Turning Tides
by MidnightBlast
Summary: Cutlena Beckett arrived in the Caribbean with 2 directives: 1. End the piracy threat against the company and Crown. 2. Assess the fitness for command of Commodore James Norrington who has lost two ships in two years. Cue old flames, media media management, naval warfare, dissolute pirates, and nagging attraction where failure is met with life ending consequences. A modern POTC AU.
1. Chapter 1

Full Summary: 

_Britain is still an empire with prosperous colonies, ruling Governors, and commanding Commodores._

 _EITC Director for West Africa Cutlena Beckett arrived in the Caribbean with two directives: 1. End the piracy threat against the company and Crown holdings. 2. Assess the fitness for command of Commodore James L. Norrington who has lost two ships in two years._

 _Cue old flames, media management, naval warfare, dissolute pirates, and nagging attraction where failure is met with life ending consequences. A modern POTC AU._

Ahoy, mateys - time for some fun on the high seas, 1720s meets Modern Age style! I hope you enjoy, and thanks for stopping by!

This whole fic was born of hannanemo's great modern James Norrington tumblr post. And then, she was even more awesome to create a modern Theodore Groves post!

Story Notes:

1\. Liberties taken with fem!Cutler (Cutlena) Beckett's backstory.

2\. Events take place post-CotBP, and then more liberties taken with events in the last two films.

3\. I can hear Norrington scold me: "You are not a military man, you are not a sailor...", and he's absolutely right. All inaccuracies are my own.

* * *

 **PIRACY THREAT IN THE CARIBBEAN ENDED AFTER FOUR YEAR STRUGGLE**

 **With the capture of the last members of the Pirate Court off the coast of San Dominique, the Royal Navy has declared victory in the war against piracy in the Caribbean. The victory comes hard-won and unsurprising to empire subjects who tirelessly supported the Crown's pursuit of justice. For just as the world started to hedge its bets on the UK Empire Caribbean trading markets, the Crown has undisputedly shown that we are still the dominant force to be reckoned with.**

Lord Jonathan Beckett, Sr. sipped his too-hot coffee, continuing to reread the newspaper article from the warm confines of his Whitehall office. Ever since he'd been informed of the victory, his office had worked diligently to keep his daughter's name out of the papers. Sadly, this reporter had not received the message. Nor had this particular reporter taken the hint when her meeting invitation was outright rejected, instead pestering Mrs. Prince on a near-daily basis. But Lord Beckett wished to offer no comment or sit for any meetings as part of this circus. He had thoroughly done his disgraceful stint two years ago.

But of course, today's meeting was one that he couldn't outmaneuver. It had come at the special request of the men of the hour, after all, and as a representative of the Crown, he could hardly refuse. He took another delicate drink as he found the passage of interest.

 **Governor Weatherby Swann bestows full credit to Commodore Theodore Groves for his absolute commitment and dedication to the cause. Groves, who has served as Commodore of the Caribbean Fleet since the demise of his predecessor, demurred politely when asked to respond to the Governor's comments, and instead thanked the countless men and women who sacrificed together to bring about this day. Swann and Groves are set to travel to London and receive the highest honors of the Crown.**

Beckett's lip curled in disgust. The countless men and women. Surely, Groves didn't mean to include Beckett's daughter. The foolish woman had gone down there and done nothing but die with nothing to show for it. She hadn't even managed to remove the former Commodore from his position. In fact, that incompetent twat of a man had managed to kill them both. Beckett skimmed over the paragraph, his jaw tensing.

 **The war against piracy raged heavily for the last four years, triggered after the** _ **Persephone**_ **, flagship of the EITC was sunk off the coast of Jamaica. While losses on both sides have been prevalent, none have been as prominent as former-Commodore James Lawrence Norrington and EITC Director for West Africa Cutlena Thomasine Beckett. As previously reported from eye-witnesses, the former-Commodore and Ms. Beckett were lost in the explosion and subsequent sinking of the vessel** _ **Icarus**_ **during a skirmish with the notorious pirate Davy Jones two years past. Requests for comments have been ignored by the offices of both EITC CEO Stanhope Walters and Lord Jonathan Beckett, Sr., Minister of Finance.**

Ignored, indeed. The vultures. The piranhas.

Had they not assaulted him in full when the news of his daughter's death first broke? Were they completely incapable of ending the needless reminders that his daughter's death came at the hands of the man whose poor tenure as Commodore allowed the rise of piracy?

He exhaled sharply, taking a gulp of coffee and barely registering the burning sting on his tongue. In all her thirty-one years, Cutlena had never failed him before. But that was all he had left now.

Life in the memory and shadow of his only child's failure.


	2. Chapter 2

_Four Years Ago_

Her fingers flew over the laptop keyboard with exacting precision. There could be no ambiguity. Orders were orders, after all, and she expected full compliance. The man would be a fool not to obey.

With a quick glance to the on-screen clock and mental math for the time zone change, she hit send on the email. He should respond shortly, well before she landed in Port Royal within the hour. But for now, she reopened the PDF window and resumed reading.

God, the _Persephone_ had been loaded with just everything. The cargo manifest seemed endless. Fine china. Rare tea. Designer diamonds. Vintage wine.

The total cargo value at over $4.5 million pounds still staggered her. What colossal genius thought loading one ship with so much value was a brilliant idea? There was no evidence – yet – to suggest that the pirates knew the value of the goods in the ship's hold before the attack. But, bloody hell, were they in for a lovely surprise when the goods were taken to the black market.

A private smirk curled her lips as she recalled the board meeting to discuss the attack. She'd never seen the CEO so animated, so red-faced. Honestly, she couldn't blame him. The attack and sinking of the East India Trading Company's premiere flagship in the Caribbean was a slap to the company, the Crown, and the empire. Well, considering it wasn't the first pirate attack in recent months, it was more appropriately the straw that broke the camel's back.

And it had all happened under the watch of the youngest appointed commodore in the entire Royal Navy.

To be fair, every report and profile she had read about Commodore James Lawrence Norrington more than qualified him capable to the task. As captain of the battlecruiser HMS _Interceptor_ , he had the most successful track record of any Caribbean ship for bringing pirates to justice. As a newly-minted commodore, his hand at the helm of the battleship HMS _Dauntless_ led to another wave of successes. The man's record was flawless up until the last year. But then, pirates commandeered and subsequently sank the _Interceptor_ off Barbados, and this was followed almost immediately by the foundering of the _Dauntless_ off Tripoli in a hurricane.

She had to give Norrington credit for having two of the most expensive mistakes on record within a fourteen-month span. When this man fucked up, he did it in grand style.

In the last month since her assignment during that fateful board meeting, she had learned a lot about Commodore Norrington. How else would she be successful if she didn't know the man she was up against? Especially now that she was on her way to help the esteemed commodore and Governor Swann solve their piracy problem once and for all. For the benefit of the company, the Crown, and the empire, of course.

She glanced over to her bag in the empty seat next to her, visualizing the sealed envelope inside that carried letters from both the Crown and the company granting her full authority and autonomy in all matters pertaining to the situation. After all, no one could expect a ship like the _Persephone_ to go down without swift retribution.

And EITC Director for West Africa Cutlena Beckett was the instrument of that retribution.

She'd spent the first ten years of her life hating her given name. Her parents made no secret of the fact that they only wanted a boy. They even had a name all picked out. A good, strong, solid name. Cutler Thomas Beckett. No matter the mounting evidence that they were to have a girl, her parents held fast until that day in the delivery room. That day she was born without a penis. That day it was confirmed her mother would never bear another child. Only then had last minute changes been made.

Cutlena Thomasine Beckett.

But thanks to the absence of a son, by the time she was twelve, she had well learned to channel the hatred of her name and the frustrations of perfect expectations into everything she did. And by doing so, she excelled. Only the best would do and nothing but the best was expected.

Friends were largely a liability waiting to manifest and she had a thin trail of discretionary lovers over the years, but nothing permanent. It seemed everyone only really wanted a slice of her power and position. More's the pity as she hadn't found anyone who was even remotely worthy of it. Maybe she never would, but it was nothing to lose sleep over. She had never wanted for anything in her life before and she sure as hell wasn't going to start now.

Even this executive jet was first-class.

Her phone buzzed with a text next to her laptop, drawing her gaze. She had heard that the governor was a thoughtful man, but even this was surprising.

 _I hope that you are having a pleasant journey. You should find everything satisfactory for your arrival._

And such a well-mannered gentleman, too. She typed out an appropriate response.

 _Thank you for the wishes. Your accommodations are most appreciated._

She wouldn't have it said that Cutlena Beckett's manners weren't flawless. Especially when the governor of the colony texted her personally to talk of her arrival arrangements. Indeed, she didn't expect to want for anything on this visit.

 _Excellent. You'll find Lt. Theodore Groves waiting for you on the tarmac. I look forward to meeting you in person soon._

Her brow lifted in surprise. Lt. Theodore Groves, indeed. It had been several years since she last heard his name. Even longer still since she had last seen him. His family had always called him Teddy. And she had, too. Well, at least up until the rhythm of his thrusting hips choked off her words.

God, how many years ago was that? Ten? Maybe eleven? The one New Year's Party where she hadn't been able to stop noticing just how much he'd grown up. She was fresh from uni and he just entered his third year, but when she followed him up to the second floor library, their positions in life mattered little. He felt so damn good - so hard, so hot, so _fuck_ \- and she lit up for him with all the passion of youthful indiscretion. He asked for nothing afterwards, the next day or any days that followed. She honestly hadn't expected any different. He wasn't a family approved suitor, after all.

Was it coincidence or fate that he would now be the one to greet her on the Caribbean tarmac?

The ping of a newly arrived email distracted her. She opened it, pouring over the brief response.

 _Your orders have been received. We will proceed without delay. – Kraken_

There were no real names in her original email or in his response. She knew better than to use her corporate email, and he had supplied an email address that she strongly suspected was a burner just for this assignment. He'd chosen his own code name, and given his penchant for the dramatic, it hadn't surprised her.

She smirked, satisfied as she closed the email. With Plan B already in motion and Plan A set to commence on her arrival, she had all confidence this mess would be cleared up in the next two months. Three, tops.

The plane landed in short order, uneventful and smooth as it glided to a stop. She could make out two black cars gleaming in the bright sunlight, and a tall man in a crisp, dark uniform. She reached for her sunglasses before exiting the plane, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stepped out into the humid heat. Such a far cry from the cool, drizzly London weather she'd left behind.

Heat rose from the tarmac as she walked towards the man she easily recognized as Teddy – but no, that name no longer fit. The man she approached now was undoubtedly a Theodore – his body disciplined from naval service, the handsome lines of his face rugged with hints of the cavalier mischief that she remembered.

His posture and expression was all strict business, but his eyes shone with the warmth of fond recognition as he tipped his head in greeting. "Ms. Beckett, welcome to Port Royal."

"Come now, Theodore. We know each other far too well to be so formal."

He huffed a soft laugh. "You weren't in quite the same position when we last met. I didn't want to presume."

"I appreciate that, but I won't be offended."

"That's the last thing anyone wants." He held out a hand towards the car door. "Shall we?"

She let him open her car door – more a sign of respect for her position as ranking executive than a chivalrous act. As they rolled off the tarmac, the simplicity of the motorcade surprised her. Just her and Theodore in the lead car, with a security detail that followed behind.

She turned from the window. "You know, I was braced for a fanfare on my arrival. But I'll freely admit this is much more pleasant."

"The Governor had planned a to-do. Red carpet, official receiving line, brass band. But the idea was set aside at Commodore Norrington's insistence. There are still ongoing, active duties for all parties, and the Crown already suspects that we're slouching on the job with the recent uptick in piratical activity. The commodore felt that it wouldn't be a good first impression to have everyone just standing around in fanfare."

Her mouth pursed in consideration, equal parts impressed at his admission and surprised at his frankness. There wasn't a reason to sugarcoat her response. "He's right, you know. It is the esteemed opinion of both the Crown and my management that the colonial authorities here are doing very little to curb this recent rash of piracy. As my very presence here now indicates."

"Yes, ma'am. I understand why you're here." The sideways grin he slid her was right out of her memory. Playful, subversive, but nothing that could ever be proven. "I know what I signed up for when I volunteered for escort duty."

She huffed a breath of amusement, the corner of her mouth ticking up. "It is good to see you again, despite the circumstances. You're looking quite well."

"Thank you. You, too. The company position must agree with you."

A full smile lit her face. The cat with the cream. "It rather does."

"I can tell. I should very much like to hear of your adventures in Africa, sometime."

"And is that all?"

"I wouldn't be opposed to a quiet drink some evening, if your schedule allows."

"Bold of you. It's barely been 10 minutes."

"You did already tell me to dispense with formalities."

"Yet you use them anyway."

"Yes, ma'am."

She shook her head, unable to completely banish her earlier hint of a smile. "Then yes, I would enjoy that sometime."

His eyes sparked with obvious excitement carefully managed by his well-mannered presentation. "So would I."

She turned back to the window as the car slowed. Fort Charles didn't look all that impressive on approach. Several stone parapets – cannons, too - still stood guard, but they were clearly just for show, a tribute to the history. The Royal Navy wouldn't dare leave security to chance no matter how unassuming the fort looked.

The car dropped them off under a shady awning and he showed her down a marble hallway, lined with ornate, wooden doors. The colonial offices, he explained, with the Governor's at the end of the hall.

He rapped lightly on the heavy wooden door. "Governor Swann? Ms. Beckett to see you."

"Ah, yes. Wonderful!" The governor's voice sounded pleasant enough and as Groves held the door open for her to enter, she got her first look at the man. A warm and friendly smile, pleasant face, and eyes wrinkled with laugh lines of a happy life. Some distant part of her wondered what one had to do to find such a thing.

"Governor Swann." She stepped forward, offering her hand to match. "It's an honor."

"Not at all, Ms. Beckett. The honor is entirely mine." His handshake was warm and jovial. The handshake of a true politician. "Your work on the African coast has been most impressive. Highest margins, highest returns. I know that we could all stand to learn from the wisdom of your experience."

Not even five minutes in and he was already licking her boots. Maybe this would go smoother than she thought. "That's kind of you to say. Thank you. I look forward to taking on the situation here."

"And the Caribbean is all the better for your generous service." Swann looked over at Groves with a small nod. "Thank you, lieutenant. Please inform the commodore of Ms. Beckett's arrival."

"He's already on his way, governor." Groves nodded politely at her with the barest hint of a smile. "A pleasure to see you again, ma'am."

She tipped her head in polite farewell as Groves moved for the door, closing it behind him.

The governor gestured for her to take the chair opposite his desk as he returned to his plush, leather seat. "I'm given to understand that you and Lieutenant Groves are family friends?"

"Yes, his family was always in attendance for the holiday parties. I'd lost track of his navy postings, but was pleased to meet him on the tarmac."

"Splendid. It is indeed such a small world." He smiled amenably. "Now, I'm sure you must be wondering about your schedule, at least for these first days. To start, I thought you might prefer having the rest of today to tend your business and get acquainted with the new surroundings. Tomorrow, the Commodore has reserved the whole day to be at your disposal, sequestered in a conference room, free from the distractions of his post so that you can dive full steam ahead into our situation."

"That sounds most agreeable."

"Excellent. I'm pleased to hear it." He hesitated, a hint of worry creeping into the set of his brow, the slant of his eyes. "I must admit that we are all a little unfamiliar with everything that your visit heralds, but you have my full assurance that everyone is available to support you. Should it be needed, you need only ask."

"Thank you, governor. I expected nothing less."

A soft knock sounded outside the door before it opened without waiting for an acknowledgement.

"Welcome, Commodore." The governor launched out of his seat, his face the warm picture of enthusiastic cooperation. "Ms. Beckett, please allow me to introduce Commodore James Norrington of the Caribbean Royal Navy Fleet.

She stood to offer her hand, discreetly taking in the finer points of his appearance. He was by far more handsome than she'd originally given his photos credit. His uniform, while just as crisp and pristine as Theodore's, fit him like a second skin with a noble and proud bearing, as though he had been born to wear nothing else. The intelligent green eyes and silver streaks in his neatly coiffed dark hair held her attention longer than they should, speaking to the rank and position he carried, despite his age. It was all an immensely appealing combination. It flashed in the primal part of her brain that she'd love to see this buttoned-up man disheveled and raw. His hair mussed, eyes blown wide and lips swollen. Mm, but he would make such a sight.

He shook her hand, his grip firm and strong. "Ma'am. My deepest apologies on the loss of the _Persephone_."

Straight to business, then. She leveled him with a hard look despite the notable height difference. "I'm sure you do mean that, commodore. But with all due respect, the loss happened on your watch so your apology means very little."

"Of course, ma'am."

The governor's face fell as he turned to her with a pleading look. "All of us feel absolutely horrid and take full responsibility for the loss of your company's premiere vessel."

She turned back for her bag, not sparing the governor a glance. "It's no secret that the company does place full responsibility for the loss on the Caribbean Royal Fleet. Enough so that my CEO had me named a Duly Appointed Representative of His Majesty." She reached inside her bag, producing the sealed letters.

Swann's face fell with surprised disappointment, but he quickly tried to cover it with a smile as he accepted the letters, his throat working visibly. "Of course. I would expect nothing less."

"In the name of the company and the Crown, I have been granted full authority to divert and allocate resources as necessary to eliminate this threat. Governor, you have already said as much, but explicitly know that I expect both of your full cooperation in all matters."

Nothing shifted in the commodore's impassive face or his stern gaze. "Yes, ma'am. In all matters."

"Yes," Swann continued eagerly, "yes, you will find Commodore Norrington an excellent partner in this undertaking. His knowledge of these waters is unparalleled, and his service exemplary."

"Governor, please." Norrington cut in swiftly, shooting a sidelong glance to the older man. "Ms. Beckett is allowed to form her own opinions of my service record."

She fixed her gaze back on Norrington. "Aptly said, because I have read it. Multiple times, in fact. And it really only begs one question – with all your proven experience and knowledge, why are you allowing this happen?"

He answered without hesitation. "A pirate who spelled trouble for the Singapore fleet relocated to the Caribbean two years ago. He's managed to stay just one step ahead at every turn, and spreads piracy like an infectious rash wherever he goes, inspiring others to new piratical heights. We've been able to keep a tight watch on those who think of answering the call, but the man himself – regrettably – still eludes us."

She quirked a brow. "No doubt this is the same man you pursued off Tripoli that cost you the _Dauntless_?"

The set of his jaw tensed but he didn't flinch under the sharp accusation. She didn't doubt that he had stared down far more intimidating people – even death itself – but there's something to be said for a man who doesn't cower in the face of his own shame. "Yes, ma'am. One and the same."

She shook her head, admonishing, granting him no mercy. "It's good to have the truth of it. Since you have clearly shown yourself incapable of catching and stopping this man, it has lead to my presence here. And let me be clear – continued failure will not be tolerated. For the good of the Crown and the empire, we will shut this man down and get back control of these waters."

"With all due respect, ma'am." The faintest edge of irritated snark flashed on the commodore's words and disappeared before she could react. "Your resume does not suggest a strong background in naval strategy." His words bore knowledge and surety, but no arrogance. It wasn't gloating, rather, it was just a fact stated from his experience.

She still had to give him credit for such boldness. "You are correct, commodore. That is why you will be retained in your post for the time being – as that is your area of expertise." Her lips curled with an edge of victory as his brow furrowed ever so subtly. Had he not considered that his position might be in jeopardy with her arrival? "Your record is spotless with two exceptions. While both of these exceptions carried high costs, they're hardly worth throwing away an entire career, don't you think? Or, at least, that's the message I shall endeavor to take back to the Admiralty and the Crown. Provided, of course, that you prove yourself worthy of it." She glanced over at the governor. "The same is applicable for other posts here, as well."

The governor huffed a breath as he struggled to keep his pleasant smile, nervously wringing his hands. "Yes, of course, Ms. Beckett. We will all most willingly accept your recommendations and assistance, whatever they may be."

A satisfied smile curved her lips, looking between the governor and the commodore. "It may not be naval strategy, but you'll find my authority within the EITC to be a powerful partner, more than capable of contending with the mess you've made of these waters."

The commodore tipped his head in stiff acknowledgement. "Yes, ma'am. And to that end, the whole day tomorrow is reserved to brief you fully on our situation."

"Indeed. I look forward to it."

"Yes, ma'am. Until tomorrow." Norrington glanced from her to the governor. "If you'll excuse me, please?"

The governor nodded with a warm smile. "Of course, commodore. Please return to your duties."

He snapped off a crisp farewell and another incline of his head before pulling the heavy door open. She watched him go, taking measure of the man whose career future rested in her hands.

The governor cleared his throat softly. "You mustn't judge him too harshly, so soon. The man has many cares and requirements of his post that constantly occupy him. No one has my faith for commanding this fleet more than Commodore Norrington."

"Thank you, governor. That is good to know."

xxx

She hadn't planned to stay so late on her first day. But the manager she'd appointed to the Lagos office had to be removed. He'd bungled one too many shipments and produced too many poor showings against scrappy, area pirates. There had been several calls, countless emails, and an endless stream of paperwork in the transition. Thank God, at least, Mercer was there in person.

She closed down her laptop, sliding it into her bag and tossing the remains of her dinner delivered by some nameless officer into the rubbish bin. The door to the conference room closed behind her, and it was pleasing to see the number of people who still bustled about in uniform, going about their jobs. As she crossed through the lobby and out into the sticky night air, she absently wondered if it was still day-shift, or if changeover had already occurred.

Her phone buzzed, and she stopped just short of reaching the waiting car, reading Mercer's newly arrived email. At last, some good news. The Lagos office replacement was in position to start right away. Hopefully he would prove himself more competent than his predecessor.

"You look in sore need of a drink. I know a place not far from here."

She looked up from her phone, glancing over to see Theodore, clearly on his way out. A slim messenger bag rested on one shoulder, his tie loose at the neck and car keys in hand.

She couldn't help a sidelong smirk. "Hoping to get lucky so soon?"

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "It's not my flat. Come on. Say yes."

"Well, how could I possibly pass up _that_ compelling offer? Just be a minute." She stepped up to her waiting car, having a quick word with the driver on pick-up time in the morning before sending him for the night.

The grin on Theodore's face as she walked back towards him reminded her of every reason why she'd dallied with him in the first place.

It was indeed just a short drive and she couldn't help a wry smile as he parked. The bar couldn't be more Caribbean if it tried – open-air, grass-roof, burning tiki torches.

She huffed a surprised breath. "I was honestly expecting somewhere a bit more…subtle. But this – this is a fitting welcome to the Caribbean."

"If you get a tropical drink with fruit and the works, I promise not to judge." He pulled his door open and she followed.

"Out loud, you mean."

"Of course." He reached for the knot of his tie, sliding it free. The top button of his shirt followed before he slipped out of his heavy black jacket, draping it neatly across the backseat, the adornments of his rank catching in the low light. She looked to her attire quickly before shrugging out of her fitted blazer. Her green dress was sleeveless but had thick straps that crossed the open expanse of her upper back. If he was dressing down, why shouldn't she?

He looked up from rolling the cuffs of his white shirt, revealing strong forearms. "God, you look great. The years have been unfairly kind."

"You're hardly one to talk. Royal Navy PT has certainly paid off."

"That's just the uniform."

"Hardly." She fell into step with him as they walked. "I've seen what's underneath, remember? And that was back when you just boxed at uni."

"And you call me out for hoping to get lucky tonight?"

"You've seen what's underneath mine, too."

"Mmm, and that dress hugs every curve just the way I remember."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, but don't stop trying."

His amused chuckle stayed with her as they settled at a small table and placed drink orders. A scotch on the rocks for him; a Gibson for her.

"A Gibson?" He queried after the waiter departed.

"Mm, a gin martini with pearl onions instead of olives."

"Don't like olives?"

"Never have. God, mother insisted on having them at every party. You remember – the tiered trays."

"Of course. They were always first class."

"Directly imported from Spain, Greece. Nothing less would do for a party hosted by the Minister of Finance's wife."

"And how is your mother?"

She blanched, tilting her head. "Is that really what you want to talk about?"

He shrugged a shoulder, nothing abashed in the movement. "She was always kind to me."

The sentiment softened her expression. Her parents made no secret that only the eldest Groves son was worthy of her affections and marriage prospects. For as the eldest son, Calamy Groves stood to inherit the keys to the largest, most profitable banking business in the entire empire; while the second son, Theodore, would always have to make his own way in the world.

Well, it hadn't taken her more than one holiday party to figure out which of the Groves brothers she preferred.

"I think she did like you." She said softly, drawing back out of her memories. "She never said a word against your brother, but there was little about him that she spoke highly of. Aside from the obvious. But I did hear her say more than once that she found you charming."

The smile that curled his lips was most certainly charming. "Admittedly, I was trying. A naïve hope that perhaps if I won her favor, it might outweigh Calarmy's more obvious prospects. And then in time, who knows…. There was a time, if your hand had been mine for the consideration, I would have thrown myself at your feet to accept. But that all seems like an age past."

She nearly choked. "God, Theodore. I…I had no idea. Shit, you must have thought me terrible for not seeing it." Words didn't usually trip her up, but to be fair, former one-night-stands didn't usually admit they were willing to marry her, either. "I…I would certainly prefer you over Calamy."

He chuckled throatily. An amused, snide sound. "Yes, I think most anyone would prefer not to marry Calamy."

"Is he still unwed?"

"Unwed, yes. But good choice of word as he isn't single."

"Oh, my parents will be devastated that it's not me."

"I'm sure she'll be at the party this year. You can meet her for yourself and form your own opinion."

She drew a breath to speak, stopping short when the waiter interrupted to deliver their drinks. With a quick thanks, the waiter departed and she leaned forward on an elbow to sip from her full martini glass.

"And how is it?" He asked softly, leaning in towards the table, swirling his own drink.

"Respectable."

"Well, I'm glad you're not disappointed." He lifted his glass, settling his eyes on hers. "Cheers. Welcome to the Caribbean."

"Cheers, Theodore." She met his glass with a soft clink, not breaking from his gaze as they each took a drink. It struck her just how easy it would be to fall back in with him again. Just as if they hadn't been apart these last eleven years.

He leaned back in his seat, right arm extending to set his drink down. Two points of black ink peeked out from under his rolled shirtsleeve, catching her eye.

She nodded towards the ink on his arm. "That's new."

He followed her gaze, the corner of his lips lifting playfully. "It's been eleven years. There's a lot that's new."

"Saying that you have more?" She regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth. Especially when his smile just widened by way of response. He had no right to be so disarming. "On second thought, I'd rather not know."

He laughed quietly. "It's just your first day. You might yet find out. How long are you going to be with us?"

"No, no." She licked her lips after taking a drink. "We absolutely cannot talk about anything official. I refuse to see my work compromised by any personal entanglements, especially on my first night. I do have a job do, so rather than fish for information from me, it's up to everyone to cover their own ass, so to speak."

He smirked with a respectful nod. "I understand, and the question wasn't meant to pry. I only wanted to know how many more weeks I might get to enjoy your company. You needn't worry, though. The commodore knows what he's doing. He has nothing to hide."

She flashed back to the image of him in her mind – all staunch surety and handsome seriousness. The recent reports sure painted such a damning picture of his performance that it was indeed hard to believe the man was concealing anything. Maybe that's why he was so…detached? Dour?

She looked back to Theodore with a questioning air as he took a drink. "What's with your CO, hm? Has he always been such a cold fish? Surely, naval service hasn't sucked all the life out of him."

He laughed softly around the rim of his glass. "Well, if you eat enough navy food, it might."

"Theodore, please."

"I thought we weren't allowed to discuss official business."

"This is off the record."

He eyed her suspiciously. "You mean you really don't know? You culled his service record but not the Caribbean gossip blogs?"

She kept her face blank as she took another drink. "Like I said, off the record."

"Well, you don't have to dig deep to learn the story – it was all made unfortunately public once she was abducted by pirates."

"Once she was abducted by pirates?" Had she heard him right?

He hummed as he swallowed. "The commodore's ex-fiancée."

"His ex-fiancée? Abducted?" It sounded absolutely absurd.

"You heard me right." Theodore confirmed, shaking his head. "This is public record – but short version, just after news of their engagement hit, Port Royal came under siege one night and she was kidnapped in the ensuing melee. The commodore mounted a rescue effort - being that she's also the governor's only child - and found her stranded on a deserted island with a similarly exiled pirate captain. With their help, he brought the pirates responsible held to account. But it turns out Elizabeth's other lover was mixed up with the pirate that she had been stranded with, and she requested the commodore rescue him as a wedding gift. But still, after a whole big thing, she rejected the commodore's proposal and eloped with her lover, presumably now her husband."

She stared blankly back at him, trying to process all of that. What on earth had all of that been like? Of the commodore, that made him sound so chivalrous, so gentlemanly. And of the other woman who so heartlessly shut him down?

Cutlena may have been called a heartless bitch around the boardroom, but she was proud to say she had never jilted a former lover so coldly, so deliberately. She certainly couldn't speak to the power of love, but was it really worth playing another man so harshly and crushing his heart to experience it?

She sighed, shrugging her eyebrows as she shook from her thoughts. "That's indeed quite a story. Never knew the power of love could drive a person to such lengths – asking someone to rescue your lover to serve as a wedding gift, indeed." She shook her head, considering, as she took a drink. "I'd probably be bitter too, if I were him. How long ago was all this?"

"Six months or so."

"Before the _Dauntless_ off Tripoli?"

Theodore bit his lip in an obvious debate if he should answer. "Yes, before that."

She drew a breath to speak, but he swiftly cut her off. "And before you say anything more – off the record, supposedly – there is no guilt or grief complex affecting his command decisions. He's been more dedicated than I've ever seen him."

"Obsessed, you might say?"

He smirked shrewdly, raising his glass conspiratorially for the last sip. "You'll have to ask him."

She met his sly grin, almost proud of him for not letting her trap him. "I just might." She tipped her glass, taking in the last of the gin, closing her teeth around the pearl onion in a savory burst.

The waiter returned and the bill settled. She insisted on her half and he politely didn't fight her. God, he was good at being irresistible. Had he always been this way? Or had that come with age? Remembering the gleam in his eyes from the second-story library firelight, the way she'd tore at his tux, and how she moaned when he fucked her with deep, long strokes – perhaps, there had always been something about him.

She followed him back out to his car, dropping easily into the passenger seat as he slid into the driver seat.

His gaze met hers as she clicked her seatbelt and the engine roared to life. "You know – no pressure, no strings – but, in full disclosure, I don't want this to be goodnight. It'd be my privilege to make you come until you can't see straight. I'd even lock Miss B out of the bedroom if you'd stay."

Arousal thrummed through her, eager to accept his offer. She exhaled a breathy sigh. "In full disclosure, I would really like that – but you know I can't. It's too damning too soon for the company rep to fall into bed with her escort on the first night – speculation will already be rampant about our drinks tonight."

"It seemed like a longshot, but I would regret it if I didn't ask."

"I'm glad you did. My feelings would have been hurt if you didn't even try."

"Trust me, there's a lot more I'd like to try for – but another night."

"No promises. Except that I promise to think about you in the shower."

He groaned, shifting the car into reverse. "Bloody fucking tease."

She chuckled smugly. "You're welcome to think of me, too. Unless, of course, that's something your Miss B can help you with."

"No, for chrissake. Miss B is my cat."

She turned to stare at him with a quizzically amused air. "How on earth did you come by owning a cat named Miss B?"

"Mrs. Smithers in the flat above me insisted that I needed a lady in my life to watch over me. Her cat had recently had kittens, and she gifted Miss Brackenstall to keep me in line. Miss B then proceeded to weasel her furry little way into my life, and I've had her ever since."

"So softhearted for such a tough naval officer."

He chuckled softly. "Nothing softhearted about it. She's a mean little bastard when she wants to be. Doesn't forgive me easily when I ship out, or let me barricade her from the bedroom for just anyone."

"Then I should be honored to meet your little hellion sometime."

"I quite look forward to the clash of ironwills between Miss B and Ms. B." He smirked over at her, turning into her hotel parking lot. "I just hope my flat it still left standing in the aftermath." He turned off the key, reaching for his door handle as she did.

The blast of humid, warm evening air reminded her just how much she had enjoyed the AC on their brief drive. She opened the backseat door, pulling out her blazer and bag as he came around.

"Thank you for tonight, Theodore. It is so good to see you again."

"You too, Cutlena." He made no move to hold out his hand or step closer, but she could plainly read the desire in his eyes.

Her lips curled with self-sure mischief as she took a step closer, catching the barest hint of his scent. An appealing blend of day worn cologne, salty sea air, and exertion in the tropic heat. She pressed her lips to his cheek, lingering for the briefest of moments before pulling back.


	3. Chapter 3

**EITC & ROYAL NAVY COZY ALREADY?**

 **Less than 24 hrs after arriving in Port Royal, EITC Director for West Africa Cutlena Beckett was spotted sharing a cozy drink with Royal Navy Lieutenant Theodore Groves. The couple arrived together and shared open-air cocktails over warm gazes and fond smiles. Groves looked relaxed in his uniform shirtsleeves, and Beckett looked fetching in a green pencil dress. The couple left together and Groves was seen shortly thereafter returning Beckett to her hotel. The couple parted with a quick exchange of cheek kisses under the front entrance awning. Sources confirm that the Groves family are longtime friends of the Beckett family. Perhaps this was just a reunion of old friends, but perhaps this is the start of something more intimate.**

 **Beckett has arrived in Port Royal to work with the Royal Navy regarding the piracy threat that escalated and recently culminated in the sinking of the** _ **Persephone**_ **. It is widely believed that she will liaise in a official capacity with Commodore James Norrington, Groves' commanding officer.**

 **This is a developing story.**

She hated that she was right.

The photographer's boss had probably shit himself when this gem of a photo crossed his desk. She and Theodore were both leaned over the small table, revealing everything inviting in their body language. Their glasses were poised on the brink of their cheers, and the shared smiles and eye-contact broadcasted the lingering attraction. It was everything one could want for a plausible romantic scandal that could comprise her objectivity and authority.

All the more reason that they'd just said goodnight under the awning. If he had followed her inside – even if he'd never left the lobby - that photo alone would have generated ten times the shitstorm.

She glanced at her watch, doing the quick math back to London time. Honestly, it was amazing that she hadn't heard from her father about it yet. He must be in session and unavailable to his office. Never the matter. Whenever he did find out, it was bound to be a tense conversation.

Good thing she'd taken her time in the shower this morning and had one outlet for stress relief. After last night, it had been all too easy and delicious to picture Theodore on his back as she rode astride him. Her fingers had slipped easily against her wet skin as she gasped out, imaging that it was his hand, his mouth on her. But then the image morphed - and it was the staunch commodore on his knees, his bright green eyes boring into hers as his tongue worked her. Release burst behind her closed eyes, punching a strangled groan from her throat.

The rapid rush of her orgasm on such an unbidden thought surprised her. She'd spent the rest of the shower trying to work out any lingering complications, but ultimately chalked it up to the heat of the moment. The sweet relief brought on by the physical reaction was well worth whatever it took to get her there. Sure, it wasn't as satisfying by herself, but it was better than nothing.

Or risking the onset of journalistic vultures looking for a juicy sex scandal to undermine her purpose.

And seven hours into her day, pouring over maps and reports, she was glad to have had the morning's release.

She did her best to suppress a yawn, but the afternoon tea hadn't kicked in yet. The commodore, for his part, looked just as unruffled and cool as he had at 0800 when their meeting began. His tie still sat pristinely knotted, his uniform unwrinkled, and his mask of professional detachment hadn't slipped once. She'd almost go so far as to say that he didn't have a hair out of place, but there was one little rebellious lock that he kept subtly smoothing back into place as the day progressed.

Taking a sip of tea, she glanced up at the man as he studied the large map on the table. He marked a set of coordinates as his other hand rose, brushing the loose hair back into place. It brought a small smirk to her lips. Was it a nervous tic or was he just that self-conscious?

She shook off her smirk as she set her tea back to the tabletop, reaching for the printout list of all the wanted pirates still loose on the high seas. The names were just as familiar now as they were this morning. Jones. Togg. Sparrow. Vane. Blythe. "And we have no acquaintances of these pirates in your holding cells currently."

He looked up from the map, a hand still poised in his charting. "No, ma'am. We used every means at our disposal to ascertain who might have been lying."

"Within the law, of course."

"At our disposal, yes." His tone left no room for doubt.

She sighed, flipping the cover back on the list and reaching for the _Persephone_ 's manifest. "And what of the black market? Do any of those criminals have any knowledge on that? I'd even settle for rumors at this point."

He nodded sharply. "We pursued that line of questioning, as well. Results were largely indeterminate, but what few nuggets were disclosed, we sought to the end of the line. There is nothing more in addition to the report amendments made by the MI5 investigators."

Sadly, she knew that he was telling the truth. His agents working in tandem with MI5 had done a remarkably thorough job in questioning the current inventory of prisoners. Having spent the day pouring over all the reports and files out of the commodore's office, even she was having a hard time turning over a stone that he hadn't already.

And most telling of all – he hadn't bothered to deny the black market existed. There were CEOs who still refused to acknowledge its existence, but after seven years in Africa, she knew well of its prosperity.

No, he had clearly shown that he wasn't stupid, and contrary to the Admiralty's working theories, his sharp cleverness was prevalent in the details. There were no obvious, official flaws – and that just made it all the more harder and fascinating.

Yes, Commodore Norrington was clever, but apparently the pirate was just that much cleverer. She only had to read the report detailing the commandeering of the _Interceptor_ to know that. The commodore had done everything by the book as his duty dictated, but the pirate had been just one step ahead the whole time. It made her wonder if the pirate might even be former Royal Navy to have executed that plan so flawlessly.

Her brow furrowed. Had she asked that question? She thumbed through the stack of incident reports, finding the one in question as she started to re-read the details and the known information on the perpetrator, Jack Sparrow. Originally from unknown. Credited with sacking Nassau Port without firing a shot. Impersonated a Church of England cleric.

A knock on the door jarred her attention, breaking from the report look over.

The door opened, Groves' trim form stepping swiftly inside. "Please excuse the interruption, sir, ma'am – but there's an urgent matter for you, sir." He stepped around the table, handing a slip of paper over to the commodore.

Norrington read over it, his expression carefully schooled. "Yes, thank you, Groves. If you'll both excuse me, please. This shouldn't take long." He started to move for the door, paying no mind to the questioning look on her face.

"This urgent matter wouldn't happen to pertain to a ship under a pirate attack, would it?" Her gaze hardened when he met it. "I would hate to think that you were deliberately withholding information."

"No ma'am." His sharp tone met her in response. "This is an internal, personnel matter. Now, if you'll excuse me." He continued around the table, reaching for the door without waiting for her response.

"That must be some personnel matter." She looked up to Groves.

"Yes, ma'am." He simply said, offering a polite nod. "I'm aware of his orders not to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary."

"We weren't right in the middle of anything pressing." She flipped the cover back on the incident report, tossing it idly back onto the stack.

"How is the meeting progressing, if you're allowed to say?"

She nodded slowly, considering her words. "Going slowly. There's…there's a lot of intricacy here that the summarized reports in London don't convey. He's clever – this pirate of yours."

He nodded to the stack of reports on the table with a quirked brow. "You assume there's only one?"

"No, but it's what your commodore believes." She tapped the _Interceptor_ report with the end of a pen. "Cut off the head, and the rest will die."

"If you had seen it that day, you might just find yourself equally impressed."

Her brow furrowed. "You were there when the _Interceptor_ was taken out from under his nose?"

"Yes ma'am." He smiled, almost fondly. "I gave the commodore's order to fire on our own ship until we discovered the disabled helm."

She pursed her lips, surprised at Theodore's almost respectful tone. "I'm not sure I'd be so proud of that."

Groves shrugged, unconcerned. "The pirate did everything right – played us perfectly. Honestly, it was inspiring to watch. Almost made me want to turn pirate myself."

"Theodore Groves," she scolded, not quite able to keep the amused smirk from her face. "I've known that you were somewhat of a rascal. But who knew it was a buccaneering rascal that lurked under the polished officer."

He chuckled, a warm sound as his eyes crinkled with mischief. "Arrgh indeed, matey."

She didn't quite cut off her soft laugh when the door opened, admitting the commodore, looking as unflappable as ever. "Thank you, Groves. You may return to your duties."

"Thank you, sir." He looked to Cutlena with a flash of a fond smile. "Ma'am."

The door closed softly in his wake as Norrington resumed his position back at the map.

She studied him, trying to get a read if anything had changed since stepping out. But, unsurprisingly enough, he was too good at schooling a distant, professional expression. Did he even relax in the space of his own home? "I trust everything with your presonnel matter resolved satisfactorily."

"It did. Thank you." The words were stilted, carefully measured.

She recognized his crafted response to answer without answering. Perhaps it was time to take some pity on the man and not press this one issue. They had enough to contend with already. She stood up, leaning over the map to point with the pen towards his most recent coordinates. "We'll start with redirecting a few shipping lanes, cluster the opportunities for attacks and better naval coverage. That proved successful off the Guinea coast." She met him with a prim smile. "You'll see the bill for extra fuel costs next month."

* * *

Meetings. Emails and more emails. Daily briefings. It was all very much business as usual around Fort Charles.

And that was to say nothing of the continuing business in West Africa. That work certainly didn't stop just because she was in the Caribbean.

Over two weeks now she'd been plugged into the situation, overseeing the diverted shipping lanes, and two weeks of radio silence. No attacks, no credible sightings. The garrison on Turks & Caicos had reported a suspected ship in harbor, but inspection had yielded nothing more than large quantities of gulf shrimp.

It certainly wasn't the start that she expected.

And tonight brought something even more unexpected. Dinner out with the commodore. Off the fort and at his invitation.

But then again, she was a visiting dignitary. Dinner out was simply a required gesture of courtesy on his part. Hell, she should probably be insulted that he had waited so long. Groves, after all, hadn't even waited one day.

Either way, it would be a good chance to learn some more about the man. Professional to a fault, he dabbled in pleasantries as social norms dictated, but he largely kept to the business at hand. Whether it was for her benefit, or the man was always so personally distant, she couldn't say. She slung her bag over her shoulder, heading for the main lobby, exhaling softly.

She hadn't been able meet up with Theodore since that first night, but that hadn't stopped the gossip sites from running wild with continued speculation. Who knew what else the Commodore's second in command and the EITC Director for West Africa were up to out of public eye?!

The thought roiled her stomach. And, of course, dinner with James Norrington tonight was sure to set off a whole new wave of different speculations. She squared her shoulders, not even remotely inclined to back down. Let the press make of it what they will. She still had a job to do, and this was simply a business dinner.

She offered a polite smile in greeting when she met him in the lobby as previously arranged. She graciously accepted his offer to drive and allowed him to pull her chair out at the dinner table. She knew it wasn't a power move on his part - from all that she had seen, he rather inhabited old-world chivalry as a sign of respect. And his choice of restaurant - classy, refined and just off the water, filled with candlelight and low sounds of waves on the sand - fit everything about this gentleman's gesture.

She could freely admit it was attractive. Especially when coupled with his knowledge of seafood and wine, all wrapped in his dashing, neat appearance - it was distractingly attractive. Maybe he would prove himself worthy for her to act on it someday.

She smiled in thanks as the waiter filled her glass after taking their dinner orders, the low light catching in the dark red wine. He reached for his glass, swirling it to waft the aroma.

She lifted hers to do likewise, extending it towards him. No time to mince words. "A toast. To the _Interceptor_."

His gaze hardened, but there was no denying the hint of remorse that darkened his green eyes. Slowly, he raised his glass to meet hers with a soft clink. "To the _Interceptor_."

"She was your first true love, yes?"

"Direct hit." He pulled his glass back for a sip. "Right through the heart."

"You're the one who brought up the _Persephone_ during introductions."

"That's different."

"Is it now? Please. Enlighten me."

He shook his head, as if trying to summon words for an impossible concept. "Well. It's like you said – she was my first true love. Each ship has their own personality. Their own quirks and attitudes, if you will. And I knew her well. Very well, in fact. That was…a personal loss for me, as well as professional. By contrast, I have to wonder if you ever even set foot on the _Persephone_."

"Never once."

"Then you'll forgive me when I say that the two losses are not equal." He licked his lips, gaze dropping to the tabletop. "Watching her go down…when I…." Words failed him and for the briefest of moments, she saw him _._ Truly saw him. The young man beneath the rank – the man who was just as human as the next with insecurities, worries, and fears that his post demanded he conceal. She didn't think it was possible.

God, she hadn't intended the toast to strike such a chord. Defensiveness, yes. Anger, sure. But this? This was immensely more intriguing.

He coughed softly, tearing his gaze from the tabletop as his face resumed its mask of calm control. "Apologies." He spoke softly, reaching for his glass. "That's not an entirely appropriate line of conversation considering our working relationship."

"This is after-hours, off the record." She used the same words that she had used with Theodore, but Norrington's flash of vulnerability almost made her want it to be true. "You must have had your heartache – and doubts. Fears. You spent three years at her helm. Lost men." She didn't know what exactly ran through his head when his words faltered just then, but she hoped something might draw him back out.

He eyed her with a cautious hesitance. "Frankly, I don't trust you."

She bristled with a stab of hurt but tried not to let it show. It shouldn't bother her, but dammit, it did. "Fine." She reached for her own drink, taking a drink. "I just know it's lonely at the top. Hard to find a sympathetic ear who won't risk becoming a liability."

"I hardly think the woman sent to report on my fitness for command counts as a sympathetic ear."

"True, your every command decision is under intense scrutiny. But this is just dinner."

"This is not just dinner."

"Then, you didn't need to invite me out to insult me." She took another drink. "You could have done that back at the fort."

"Insulting you was not my intention. You broached that topic of conversation, and contrary to popular belief, I do have a life that extends outside the fort."

Her brows raised in surprise. "Is that some sly invitation back to your place after dinner?"

"Perish the thought." His face flashed with amusement. "That would without doubt ruin your objectivity in the investigation, as well as the press' 'developing story'."

The waiter interrupted with plates of food, shuffling dishes around the table. Her scallops smelled divine as she reached for her fork.

She looked down to her plate, spearing a bite. "Developing story, indeed. I wasn't aware you kept up with the gossip sites."

"I'm informed of all press that involves my name." He cut a neat bite. "Particularly when the future of my career is at stake."

"Then shouldn't you be encouraging my objectivity to fail?" She fixed him with a pointed gaze. "Is that the purpose of this dinner? Since you've already acknowledged that this isn't just dinner."

"It's about managing this 'developing story'."

Her eyes darted around – the dimly lit restaurant on the beach, the put together officer and the well-dressed business lady, wine and delicious seafood. She knew exactly what the press would make of this by morning, but that hadn't stopped her in the lobby. "Is that what we're doing? Liaising?"

He tipped his wine glass towards her. "Liaising."

In spite of herself, she moved her own glass to meet his again. He'd already proven himself clever, but his situational awareness was beyond compare. No wonder he commanded an entire fleet at such a tender age. God, the growing tug of attraction irked her. Why exactly had his fiancée jilted him?

She set her wine down, taking another bite. "I understand you had a fiancée until recently."

His eyes darted up from his plate, a sharp glint in the edges. "Do you ever spare a passing shot?"

She shrugged innocently. "You tell me that I'm untrustworthy, and I get defensive. And you know what they say about the best defense."

He swallowed a bite, setting his fork down. His face stiffened with impassive lines, the same lines she recognized from his press conference footage. "Yes. It's officially public domain to know that I was engaged, briefly, to the governor's daughter. It's also public domain that she broke off the engagement shortly after accepting."

"But you left out the best parts. Captured by pirates and rescued by her dashing, soon-to-be-fiancé. Then, mounted a rescue mission with now-fiancé for the man she ultimately ended up marrying."

"You're very well informed."

"There's a lot of talk that isn't in the official public domain."

"You should know better than to give credence to those gossip sites."

"There's always a little bit of truth buried in amongst the garbage."

He gave his head a short, indignant shake. "Publicly and privately, the happy couple have nothing but my best wishes, despite whatever you may read about the circumstances of the broken engagement." He licked his lips, staring up at her pointedly, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "If you're trying to determine if heartache or grief has played a role in recent events, I don't appreciate –."

"I know better than that." She cut him off swiftly, her sharp tone matching the look in his eyes. "You're far too professional to let your personal feelings get in the way of your duty. I didn't ask after your ex-fiancée to find an emotionally unhinged angle to explain your recent failures. That would be too easy and I enjoy a good challenge." She ran a fingertip around the rim of her wine glass. "I merely asked about your ex-fiancée for stimulating conversation."

"You don't merely do anything. In fact, I'd wager that you've never made an uncalculated move in your life."

"Well, with a name like Cutlena," she smirked mirthlessly, spearing another bite, "one must always stay ahead of those who seek to find flaws."

"Hm, and with your lineage, it's a wonder you're not angling for Prime Minister."

"Diplomacy was never a strong suit. I much prefer baseball bat negotiations to the dizzying waltz of words that politicians employ."

"Why limit yourself? With that attitude, you could make rear admiral in no time." The corner of his lips lifted in the barest hint of a smirk, his tone oddly warm, almost playful.

The cheeky nerve of the man. And such yet another completely unexpected revelation. What would she have to do to get to know this James Norrington better? Would it even be possible to both do her job and explore the man beneath the rank at the same time?

She raised her wine glass. "As advantageous as it is to plan ahead for one's career advancement, planning too far ahead can be just as detrimental as not planning at all. I'm here for now. That's what matters."

"Indeed." He polished off his last bite, reaching for a drink of wine. "And while your presence here is welcome, of course, one can hope that you are not with us for too long."

She laughed a harsh sound, taking her last bite. "That sounds like true, press conference bullshit."

"Take it as you will."

"Off the record, commodore. Remember?" Her gaze didn't falter from his as the waiter cleared their plates.

His eyes sparked with an intriguing challenge as he leaned over the cleared table, dropping his voice. "Not a chance in hell." He placed his napkin on the tabletop, tipping his head. "Please excuse me."

She nodded as he rose, watching him go and taking in the fine lines cut by his uniform. Why did he have to be such a complete package? It truly begged her earlier question – what could the fiancée's other lover possibly have offered her over the commodore?

She sighed, disgusted with herself as she drank the last of her wine. The objective part of her brain knew better than to dwell on such fancies, but that didn't mean it wasn't pleasurable. Same with indulging the occasional shower fantasy. Admittedly, it would be much harder now to keep those images away after tonight.

She caught his eye on approach back to the table, watching him drop to sit with a disinterested look.

He cocked an uncertain brow. "Did you stare after me the whole time I was gone?"

She huffed a derisive laugh. "No. I also drank my wine."

"Productive."

"Always." She turned from him, glancing around. "Now if only our waiter would be equally so productive and bring the check."

"I've already seen to that, in interest of not creating a scene."

She stared at him, taken aback. "Wait, you've already paid?"

"Of course. Dinner tonight was at my invitation, after all."

"Hm, and I suspect on the Crown, too."

"Liaising with the duly appointed Crown and company representative more than qualifies as a business expense."

"I'm sure that will please Governor Swann."

"It already has."

She shook her head, unable to completely banish her smirk. "Well, just you wait - someday, I'll get you back for this."

Another not-quite smirk lifted his lips but his eyes shone with the challenge. "I'll concede for you to do your worst. But be warned that I'm rather an old-fashioned sort."

An old-fashioned sort, indeed. That's probably why, as they left, she allowed him to open the car door for her and offer her a hand. It was equal parts flattering and eye-rolling. He really had no cause to impress her, yet his treatment of her never faltered.

A quiet, melodious chorus of strings sounded over his car radio as he drove.

Her lips quirked with amusement. "I'll have to agree to old-fashioned. I don't think I know anyone who listens to classical music."

The corner of his mouth tugged up on the tease. "You can speak against it all you like, but you'll be hard pressed to find another genre that offers up so many of the greatest composers of the human age, and pieces that can stir the human soul. Take this piece for instance." He adjusted the volume from steering wheel controls, and the peaceful, passionately building melody filled the car for a few measures. "Quite arguably the most beautiful piece ever written for a string orchestra."

"Well, with such a glowing recommendation, how can I pass that up? What's the name of it?" She could just make out the annoyed pinch of his brow in the passing street lights.

"'Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis'."

"I'll have to look it up."

"Even if you're just mocking, I would recommend that you do." He sent her a sideways look at a stoplight. "Though, don't mistake me completely - the Beatles and the Stones have their place, too."

The admission startled a laugh from her. "Now, that I'd love to see - the staunch commodore with the windows down, 'Satisfaction' blowing from the speakers."

"'Jumpin Jack Flash', actually."

"No," she shook her head, not missing his small smirk, "you're putting me on."

"Not at all." He pulled into her hotel parking lot, easing under the awning. "ACDC, too."

"'It's a Long Way to the Top'?"

"'Dirty Deeds."

"Well, next time then, commodore."

"Next time."

She couldn't suppress a smirk as he got out and came around, again opening her door. He certainly made for a good show. She took his hand as she stepped out.

"Suppose I should thank you for dinner, even though you didn't give me a fighting chance." She met his gaze with a small smile. "I enjoyed tonight."

A wry look of surprised amusement flashed across his face. "Oh really?"

"Sure. I know what you think of me, and I got my jabs in return. It's always good to know you stand with people."

He smiled. Actually smiled. Had she ever seen such a look on him before? It set off a warm flutter in her chest. Did he really have to be so handsome? "It has indeed been good." He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, reminding her that she hadn't dropped his hand. "I'll be sure to arrange pistols at dawn with Groves."

"Oh, I'd expect nothing less."

He looked down to her hand still in his, raising it and bussing his lips across her knuckles as his eyes returned to hers. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He dropped her hand and stepped back around to his door, but not before casting a single wave in the direction of the parking lot across the street.

Of course, this wasn't his first media circus.

And as she lay in bed listening to the 'Fantasia' piece, she did have to agree with him. It was quite beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

**BERMUDA TRIANGLE MEET THE JAMAICAN LOVE TRIANGLE**

 **Just shy of three weeks after her cozy rendezvous with Royal Navy Lieutenant Theodore Groves, EITC Director for West Africa Cutlena Beckett stepped out on the town for dinner with Commodore James Norrington at 1700 Ocean. The restaurant, long favored for romantic dinners and emotional proposals, treated the couple right with wine, seafood dinners, and sunset views over the ocean. The commodore was the picture of polished class in his pristine uniform, while Beckett looked professional and breezy in a flared navy skirt with a sleeveless, yellow blouse.**

 **Conversation looked easy between the couple, sharp at times but always undercut by mutual respect. After dining, the couple drove away together and Norrington promptly returned Beckett to her hotel. Ever the gentleman, he brushed a kiss to Beckett's hand before parting and offered a small wave to onlooking reporters.**

 **Norrington was last seen publicly stepping out with then-fiancée Elizabeth Swann, the only child of current Governor Weatherby Swann, shortly before her abduction by pirates. After being rescued by the commodore, she broke off their engagement, instead choosing to follow her heart and wed William Turner.**

 **While this dinner may have been nothing but a professional meeting of colleagues, the setting begs the question if the commodore is trying to sway the results of Beckett's investigation. As previously reported, Beckett is in the Caribbean for an indeterminate amount of time to help the Royal Navy combat the piracy threat in these waters. There has been no official news on the progress of the investigation or the future of the commodore's career.**

 **Groves, the commodore's second in command, could not be reached for comment.**

 **This is a developing story.**

Comment, indeed. What did they really expect Groves to say? There was nothing to comment on.

She did chuckle, though, recalling Norrington's parting words about meeting Groves at dawn with pistols. Wouldn't the press just eat that up if they did indeed meet? With a shake of her head, she minimized the browser on her phone and glanced back to her laptop.

The email had come together better than she thought. Kraken's lack of progress was not tolerable. She could only surmise that he needed a reminder of the stakes at hand. Again. She hit send just as her phone buzzed, indicative of a text.

 _You needn't engage in such shameless displays, Cutlena._

She could hear her father's voice, stern and unforgiving, as she re-read the text. Surprisingly, he had let the first articles about her night out with Groves slide. But really, she'd been living on borrowed time. Especially with the added speculation that she could be compromised in her investigation of the commodore's fitness for command.

She typed out a quick response.

 _You needn't believe everything you see in print_

That probably wouldn't sit well with him, but he should know better than to bother her over such trifle matters. Her phone vibrated in short order, once, then twice.

 _I do not appreciate your tone. If you insist on making headlines, then keep your official duties out of the discussion. Small ripples grow to big waves if left_

 _Unchecked. Chase Groves if you must, but be wary of the commodore._

Her father never really had grasped the concept of texting. His full sentences with complete spelling and punctuation often resulted in a flurry of messages. But nothing less would do for a man in his position.

She grit her teeth, exhaling as she debated whether to fight him or let it go. Honestly, she had more important things to think about.

 _Understood, sir._

She hit send, hoping that would be the end of it. At the very least, it reminded her that people in London were watching. Powerful, important people who could pull the plug on her work here and compromise her position in the ETIC with one fell swoop.

All the more reason to focus on the task at hand. And, at least, Kraken was timely in his responses. She opened the unread email.

 _We_ _are_ _proceeding. Can't move too quickly without risking exposure. I'm sure you understand. Just as I understand that your patience is not inexhaustible. You keep to your word, and I'll keep to mine. -Kraken_

Oh, was he getting frustrated? She smirked to herself as she read over the email again. Yes, the frustration was most certainly there. Concern, too. Perhaps even worry? No matter really. As long as Plan B remained in motion, then she could keep her focus on Plan A.

Which admittedly wasn't proceeding as fast as she would like. The reshuffled shipping lanes weren't panning out yet, and no rumors that the goods from the _Persephone_ had made a splash on the black market. She wanted to call bullshit on that, though. Those goods were likely selling high and fast, no thanks to all the press surrounding the ship's sinking and her presence in the Caribbean.

As much as this modern age of readily available information was a boon to business, it also proved hurtful.

She started typing an email to her boss. It took some thought, but she began to craft a report that spoke to progress without any real production. In-process. Ongoing. Underway. Investigating. All good words that indicated they were working with nothing really to show for it yet. But it was still the beginning of her tenure in this assignment. This was just a slow start. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all.

It was all rather masterful, in her opinion. The art to create something from nothing if the situation called for it.

A knock on the door interrupted her and she looked up, poised. "Yes?"

The door opened to reveal the commodore, cool as ever in his heavy uniform despite the day's warmth. "Good afternoon. We received word of an attack that took place twenty minutes ago and a credible source on berth, not far from one of your revised lanes. I will be setting sail on the _Providence_ within the hour to mount a response."

Her ears perked on his words. "An attack? On an EITC ship?"

"Details are still forthcoming as we make speedy preparations."

"Hmm. What time exactly do we set sail?"

His brow furrowed ever so imperceptibly. "Your pardon, ma'am, but it sounded like you said 'we'."

"Yes, I did." She saved her email, exiting Outlook. "A pirate attack occurs, and I'm just supposed to sit here and wait for word? Real-time decisions cannot be made if I stay here."

"You mistake my concern."

She cocked a sardonic brow. "Oh? Are women not allowed on your military vessel?"

"Nothing is farther from the truth. I wouldn't want to see you inconvenienced or hurt should we fall under attack."

"I'm at no more risk than any of your men or yourself." She looked up from powering down her laptop. "What time do we shove off."

Displeasure flashed in his gaze even as the rest of his face remained pleasantly neutral. "Arrive on the dock at 1450 hours and we'll get you situated in your cabin. I want to make it understood here and now that the _Providence_ is not an EITC vessel, nor a charter vessel. She is under my command until we return to port, and no order short of the Admiralty will countermand mine. Do we understand each other?"

She smirked. "My dear commodore, it is not my intention to interfere with the command of your vessel. That is still your job. But if the need does arise, then it's a good thing I have a direct line to the Admiralty."

His tipped his head, acknowledging with stiff politeness. She watched his gaze drop down the length of her legs, the height of her heels. "I do hope you brought a more sensible pair of shoes."

She met his cheeky smirk as he turned for the door.

At least now she would have something much more interesting to write about in her email.

xxx

It didn't take long to change and pack. She wasn't much of one for spreading out, and her usual office attire wouldn't be suitable for life at sea. His parting words still rankled her even though she knew they shouldn't. His opinion of her shouldn't matter in the slightest.

The sun shone bright overhead when her car pulled up on the far edge of the dock and she begged the driver off, slinging her duffle bag over one shoulder. Dressed in light gray capris and a white and blue striped shirt – she was going sailing, after all – and non-descript lace-up shoes, she stood out from the navy blue clad sailors scurrying about making preparations.

The HMS _Providence_ gleamed proudly in the afternoon light. Every appointment on her from stem to stern was of the finest caliber the Royal Navy had to offer. The long gun barrels stationed on her decks spoke to the formidable force that the ship could unleash.

The sailor on guard at the gangway took her name and sent a lesser rank up to the bridge. She tried to keep a neutral face as she stood in the hot sun and waited. It wasn't this sailor's fault that his superiors hadn't informed him of her arrival. But then again, it was 1442 hours, so perhaps they just weren't ready for her yet.

A bead of sweat ran down the back of her neck and she allowed herself a smile as she spotted Theodore, walking along the ship's quarterdeck before coming down the gangway. With the arrival of First Officer Groves, the issue of her clearance on board evaporated and she followed him onto the ship and through a gray-painted labyrinth.

He explained the situation as he led her through another stairway, the air stiff and stale with the smell of motor oil and metal. Her cabin was located on B Deck with the officers, in the corridor reserved for visiting dignitaries. She would take her meals in the officer's mess unless explicitly invited to dine with the commodore. Her cabin came outfitted with a private head, and instructions for accessing sickbay, laundry services, and a general map of the accessible decks.

She dropped her bag in the cabin without a second thought and followed Theodore back out into the corridor. He was needed on the bridge for the impending departure, and she was welcome to oversee if she preferred. She most certainly did.

The submarine door concealing the last set of steps up to the bridge opened with a dull clank under his hand. "Your access to the bridge is at the discretion and permission of either myself or the commodore. No other crewman is authorized to escort you up."

"I suppose that's fair."

"More than fair." He returned as she followed him up. "The majority of onboard guests are not permitted access to the bridge. But these are not normal circumstances."

"No, they're not." She crossed the threshold behind him, taking in the bridge teeming with officers at their stations and the warm air tinged with sweat.

There was no observation post on the bridge, so Theodore installed her behind the captain's chair with strict instructions to stay put and not interfere. Despite feeling like a little kid sitting in the corner, she gave her word. There was simply too much to observe right now to argue.

Lights flashed on consoles and phones sounded at various stations as the different decks rang in. Theodore rattled off quick orders into his phone before dropping it to the cradle and accepting a clipboard from a lead seaman. He scanned it effortlessly, picking up the conversation and ending it with a decisive tone as a green light lit on his console. He made calm, organized work of the first officer position, taking reports and processing the information to provide efficient direction. It made her wonder how much longer it would be until he got a ship of his own.

Her gaze darted amongst the other men moving about on the bridge with well-practiced movements, surprised and just now realizing that the commodore was not among them. Should he not be here by now? She glanced down at her watch. 1456 hours. Four minutes until official departure. Were they off schedule perhaps? She fought the urge to pluck at her shirt as another bead of sweat ran down the length of her back. The paltry fans in the corners of the room were doing little to cool the warm, humid Caribbean air.

"Captain on the bridge!" The call rang out and the officers who weren't standing rushed to their feet, snapping off salutes as Norrington ducked in out of the sun. He radiated calm cool despite the temperature as his sharp green eyes swept the bridge.

"As you were." He brushed by her, solely focused on his duty to the ship as he approached Theodore. They spoke in low, crisp tones, reviewing ship and station status. From there, he moved through the other stations, the aura of authority about him truly unmistakable. It was breathtaking to watch him command his vessel.

As the last of the stations rang in, and he took up position in the captain's chair, ordering the lines to be cast and the helm to take them out, she'd never before seen a man so suited to the calling. Everything about him as the ship left port – taking reports, giving orders, making decisions, directing course – she couldn't deny why he was the youngest commodore in all the colonies.

If the Admiralty could see this right now, they'd kick themselves for ever even considering this man's termination.

He made it look easy. And he made it look good. If the heat phased him at all, he didn't let it show. He may have traded his office dress uniform for the navy blue operational uniform ensemble, but it looked equally ill-suited to the hot temperatures. His hair held its neat styling as the open sea breeze blew through the cracked windows once the ship left port and made for the attacker's last known position at top speed. He had yet to pay her any mind, and for once, that suited her just fine.

She was thoroughly enjoying the show. It was unbelievably sexy to watch him act with such confident, complete control. A warm thrum sang in her body as she fought back visions of that authoritative power focused on her. Would it be more pleasurable to melt and submit to him, or to push him to the breaking point?

She could feel faint heat rising to her cheeks and she subtly cleared her throat to shake the thoughts away. Those would be better explored in the confines of her cabin. She'd have to remember to be quiet, though. No way of telling how thin the walls were. Or who she shared walls with.

"Now, Ms. Beckett." Norrington's gaze met hers as he swiveled in his chair. "I trust Groves got you settled?"

"Yes, he did. In the corridor for visiting dignitaries. Very swanky." She flashed a teasing grin. "One would almost think my onboard presence had been planned before our conversation this afternoon."

He flashed an answering grin of his own, though nothing else in his face supported it. "Perceptive, as usual. In truth, preparations for your cabin were ordered when the command to make ready for sail was given."

"I'm flattered you thought of me."

"It wasn't flattery, Ms. Beckett." He turned to face forward, tapping something on his console. "If these waters hold, we're a little over eight hours out from the last reported position as of ten minutes ago. You are free to roam the ship within reason. My officers have been given strict instructions as to your presence here and the purview of your authority."

"I have it but it's second only to your command?"

"Precisely. There can only be one captain." The man had stated as much on land, and she really couldn't begrudge him for it. Not until he gave her a reason, at any rate.

The ship lurched forward on a deep wave swell and she felt the familiar, wrenching tug in her gut.

Fucking hell. Not this again. And not this soon.

The last time on a yacht, it had taken three days for seasickness to catch up to her. The Dramamine had helped for the rest of the voyage, but still. She'd gone her entire childhood without issues only to start being plagued with motion sickness at 30 years old.

With a ship this large, she would have thought the ocean waves wouldn't have that much of an effect. But as the ship rolled again through a wave, the answering roll in her stomach didn't give her hope.

She took the opening to excuse herself from the bridge. Hell, the commodore's words were a dismissal in of themselves. He'd probably be glad to have her removed for a short while.

Finding Dr. Powell and securing Dramamine from sickbay was easy enough. It was even easier to retire to her cabin and wait for the drug to settle her system.

Fortunately, when the invitation to dine with the captain arrived, she was fit enough to accept.

Unsurprisingly, Norrington's quarters were the largest and finest on the ship. But they still had a fairly stark, military appearance, despite the few personal touches scattered around. A door lead off from the sitting room – presumably to the bedroom - but the sitting room contained a couch set, and a small table arranged with a dinner service for two, including gleaming metal lids.

She took her seat opposite him, lifting up the lid to a puff of steam and savory smells. "Mm, all that's missing are glasses of wine."

The corner of his mouth raised in mild amusement. "I hope you're not disappointed to learn that there's not a single bottle on board."

"Not a one? Even for visiting dignitaries?"

"No. Even they must face a sober sea journey like the rest of us."

She took a bite of food, posture perfect and manners impeccable. This was, after all, another business dinner. Surprisingly, the first bite wasn't half bad. "But surely – surely, as captain, you keep a bottle stashed."

He dabbed with his napkin. "No doubt. As does every other honest sailor."

She cocked a brow. "And you allow that?"

"Without an unfounded search of the sailors' lockers – and even then, there are always creative places to hide contraband – there are few avenues that don't lead to a riotous crew."

"Even in the Royal Navy? With the weight of naval discipline hanging heavy?"

"Even with."

She chewed, musing on her assumption that sailors always followed the rules for fear of punishment – but then again, they probably needed something to make life in the service bearable.

He took a bite, chewing fully. "I trust you're feeling better?"

Of course, he would know about her visit to sickbay, but it surprised her that he mentioned it. She knew better than to let it show on her face. "Yes, thank you. Dr. Powell was able to see me situated."

"I'm pleased. Though, please allow me to suggest on future voyages – earlier disclosure could prevent symptoms from even manifesting."

"Do you suffer from seasickness?"

"No."

"Then allow me to suggest that I will take my medical consult from Dr. Powell. I am relieved of my symptoms, and while not all of us have the digestive fortitude to withstand life at sea, no one is perfect at everything."

He set his fork down, the corner of his mouth ticking up slyly. "But you would like everyone to believe that you are."

"Of course. No one likes having other people know their weaknesses. It just invites exploitation."

He lifted a sardonic brow. "You have trust issues."

She scoffed, reaching for her napkin. "And you don't, Mr. Jilted-Fiancé?"

The former tease in his face fell away, darkened by her reference. "Touché."

Silence lapsed as they continued to eat. It was indeed a cruel barb, but she didn't see the need to apologize for it. It wouldn't be a sincere gesture, and he didn't look too upset by it. The man always did maintain a certain air of distant detachment, but maybe that was the reason why.

She glanced around his sitting room, chewing another bite. An elegant sword mounted on a plaque stopped her wandering gaze. The blade was long and tapered, the handle a black grip with inlaid gold filigree.

She nodded towards it. "That's quite a beautiful sword."

He followed her gaze, nothing in his expression changing. "Thank you."

"Do you know how to use it?"

"Yes. I've always rather enjoyed the art of fencing and swordplay."

She chuckled softly, finishing off the last bite. "Quite the true swashbuckler, indeed. I never would have guessed. Have you ever had to use the knowledge in your line of work?"

His answering smirk just borders on playful. "Not yet."

"A man who doesn't rule out his options. Respectable."

* * *

Jack never sat still. It just weren't in his nature. Even as a young'un, his mum always told him to be a good lad and stop fiddlin' about.

And now that he was captain of his own freedom? Well, he didn't have to listen to dear ol' mum anymore if he didn't want to.

His own freedom. Which would resume once this infuriating banana...stopped...interfering!

It was simple. He only wanted to eat the banana. Nothing sinister. Nothing dishonest. But this peel was proving quite the ruthless foe. He'd already thoroughly mushed the top half of the banana, just trying to get the stem to open and yield the deliciousness within.

Of course, he remembered Anamaria telling him that it wasn't ripe, but he refused to back down from the challenge.

He pulled the inelastic stem again, banana goo ooshing out through a small crack in the peel right onto his fingers. Well, that simply wouldn't do. He glanced around his bridge with a pensive brow raised.

"And that, lads," Mr. Gibbs had a reminiscent smile on his face as he stood at the helm, "is how I outlived death on the night that I drank with the living dead. "

"Oi, that's a load of poppycock, that is." Pintel sneered over a laugh, dramatically rolling his eyes as he loafed about, unwilling to return to the galley quite yet. "It weren't you that drank w'the living dead. I've heard that story tens of times."

"It t'were, too!" Gibbs insisted, glaring at the shorter man, gesturing wildly. "The man – if he could be called that – smelt of a hundred years of dead rot. And his eyes – burning bright with the devil's hellfire. And skin – t'were so grotesque –"

Ragetti, looked up from his phone, interrupting without mercy. "You sure he weren't just sick? The king's evil or morphew? Or somethin' from a lady?"

Pintell sniggered with a flash of unsightly teeth. "They ain't no ladies, zat's a fact!"

Gibbs scowled. "Don't believe me – but at your own peril! Don't say I didn't warn ye when those devil eyes find you deep in your cups at the dead of night."

Jack approached the unhappy man at the helm, his hand outstretched in disgust. He swiped it quickly across Gibb's shoulder, leaving a smudge of the offending banana mush. He wiped again quickly, grimacing as the rest of it – finally! – came off.

Gibbs turned with a confused, defensive glare at the sudden touch. "What the – hey! Er, cap'n."

"You'd a fly." Jack quickly said, holding up his hands about the width of Gibbs' head. "That big – about bit yer head off."

"Oh, well-hmm, thank ye, cap'n." Gibbs' tone was dubious, but he wasn't about to question his captain.

A disgusted, feminine guffaw sounded from the bridge doorway. "Idiots and assholes. All of you."

"Anamaria." Jack turned with a smile that was all warm sugary syrup. "Good morning to you, too."

She glared at her captain, arms crossed against her chest. "Not yet. But someday soon, yes – it will be." Her accent punctuated the sharp words.

He did his best to offer an honest, reassuring smile. "Yes! Yes, it will. But until we have a good take and I can rightly fulfill my promise to you – I'll thank ye kindly not to take your ill humors out on me crew."

She flipped him the bird as she crossed to the navigation console without another word.

Gibbs shook his head with a knowing sigh. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Jack, mouthing silently. BAD LUCK TO HAVE A WOMAN ABOARD.

Jack sent him a pleading look in response, followed by a quick shrug. He knew it would be far worse not to have her here.

Anamaria shook her head with a lethal glare. "I can see you, _cabrón_!"

Pintel scratched at his ear. "Speakin' of which – 'ave ye heard the latest what'wif Jones?"

Ragetti sniggered, eyes flashing with the giddy joy of knowing a secret. "Had the heart cut right of 'im, they say!"

Pintel smacked the taller man across the shoulder. "I'm tellin' the story!"

"Heart cut out." Gibbs said with a dismissive shake of his head. "Now of all the tall tales – "

"No! It were true!" PIntel defended. "He ran afoul of the naval fleet in Singaporean waters. And they caught him - seized his ship and his crew. A dark fate loomed for Jones, indeed. Blacker'n this ship's hull! But he made a trade, they say. His heart for his freedom."

Gibbs scoffed. "What an utter crock! They's no way Jones made _that_ trade of his own accord."

"A man'll promise anythin' when he's starin' death right in the face." Pintel argued, glancing at Jack. "Ain't that right, cap'n?"

Gibbs barreled ahead, paying his quietly-eating-a-banana captain no mind. "E'ryone knows the tale of Jones and his lady love. How she spurned him. Sentenced him to life on the sea 'cause she took all the islands in the divorce. Yet, he remains a lovesick octopus with a bitter, blackheart. And ye say – that we're supposed to believe – the he'd just give her up. Like that."

Ragetti's brow furrowed. "Stories ain't that specific. Just that his heart has been cut right out, and he's back out there. Rovin' the high seas. Ensnarin' ships in those tentacles of his."

Pintel sniffed indignantly. "Well, why wouldn't he give'er up? The woman that stomped all over his heart? Serves'er right, if ye ask me. He should be happier'n a clam to see her served her comeuppance."

Anamaria shook her head, scoffing with wry amusement. "And ye wonder why you're still single."

Pintel shook his head with a smirk. "Ain't no woman ever gonna pull one over on me like Jonesy suffered. Ain't no woman worth it!"

Ragetti looked over, almost forlorn. "Oh, now don't be sayin' that. Surely, there's a fish out in the sea, out there just for you."

Gibbs roared with laughter. "Probably with a tail, gills'n all!

Jack stuffed the rest of the banana in his mouth, deforming his words. "Alright, you scabrous dogs. Quit loafin' on me bridge. I'm sure ye've….things to do."


	5. Chapter 5

Beef in gravy sauce. It still surprised her that the shipboard food had a decent flavor. By Theodore's account, she had prepared for much worse. But maybe it was because she ate at the captain's table again. Either that, or her palate had already degraded to naval standard grade. God, but there was nothing encouraging on that thought. The commodore, for his part, ate in silent consideration. But it wasn't an awkward silence. In fact, it struck her how much of a companionable silence it was despite the uneventful, even disappointing voyage.

Of course, there was no evidence of the pirates' trail from the last recorded position of the attack. They had spent the last three days scouring the ports and coastlines for hidden coves and berths, but continued to come up empty-handed.

She blamed popular media, but she always assumed life at sea to be one grand adventure of action and excitement. Of finding one's prey and engaging in fierce battle, taking the victor's spoils, scuttling the loser's ship.

But so far, this voyage was just lots of empty, blue water and dull, shrub infested coastlines.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She dropped her napkin, fishing it out to look at the caller ID. Her gaze hardened as she glanced back up at the commodore. "Do you have a room where I can step away?"

He dabbed at his mouth, rising and pointing her towards the door to his bedroom. "In there. Otherwise, it's the head or the hallway."

She nodded her thanks, stepping inside the bedroom and closing the door as she answered.

"Cutlena." Her father's voice came across the line, heavy with tired displeasure. "Your reports are inadequate."

Of course, he would be well-informed of her EITC reports. She stiffened her posture. "My reports have included all relevant information. We are working-"

"Don't play the word game with me. I taught you to play that game."

"Yes, sir." She licked her lips. "There is nothing concrete yet. We made for the last position of the reported attack, but it has been quiet waters. Our ensuing hunt of the coastline has turned up nothing useful."

"Of course, it's been quiet waters. Pirates don't wait around for the navy to descend." Paper shuffled over the phone. "Let me be blunt."

She knew better than to smart off, but how would that possibly be different from his usual conversation?

"Your tenure there is not yielding the results that the Crown had expected. You've been there over a month. It was expected that we would have an assessment of the commodore's fitness for command by now."

"And my reports have included points relevant to that investigation. My next report is currently in process, and now that I have had a chance to observe him in active operations, there will be much more substance for the board to digest. Especially if he is not able to turn anything profitable from this voyage, then that will be reflected in his appraisal." She sighed, irritated with herself. "I regret to admit that I have been laboring under the misconceptions of popular media regarding the expediency of naval pursuits, but it's a vast ocean. There's only so fast our technology can move, even in this modern age."

"Excuses don't become you, Cutlena. Don't make a habit of them." More papers shuffled over the line. "Something else you should know. Ms. Dalma's lawyers secured her release with no travel hold. I sincerely hope that you didn't pursue the avenue with Jones as I advised."

"Fuck."

"Cutlena. You know I don't approve of that language."

"Apologies, sir."

"Your response is not encouraging."

She grit her teeth. "I secured the most profitable trade turnarounds in Conakry without your help, and I will damn well solve this mess here in the Caribbean without it, too."

"Going forward, you certainly will. I've already spoken in your favor, but I will not do so again. Prove definable progress soon, or swift changes will come to the Caribbean and your position."

"I understand."

"Very well." The line went dead.

She sighed, her jaw tightening as she disconnected her phone. Honestly, it was rather surprising that she hadn't heard anything sooner. She knew very well that her reports weren't making the progress that the company and the Crown expected. But what was there for it? Even the weight of her presence and the threat to the commodore's position hadn't made a noticeable difference in day-to-day activities. She refused to believe that it was because there were no feasible changes to be made, but it was taking considerably more effort to seek out the flaws.

And fucking shit on the news about Tia Dalma. With those simple words, her leverage on Jones evaporated. She could only hope that Jones hadn't received the news yet. If he knew that she was free and without travel restrictions…there's no telling how fast they would both go to ground.

But that's exactly why there were Plans A and B in place. Never put all your eggs in one basket.

She blew another sigh, taking another minute to collect herself before returning to the sitting room. Her eyes couldn't help but look around the bedroom, his inner sanctum. It was rather stark to match the outer room – a sizeable bunk with neat bedcovers, a bureau, and leather chair. A few personal items lay scattered around, but nothing too revealing. Her gaze caught the book on the bedside table, squinting down at the title. _The Complete Sonnets_ , William Shakespeare. The blue leather cover looked old, well-loved, and the page corners well-read. An amused smirk tugged at her lips.

Which one was his favorite? Surely, it wouldn't be the more popular ones. He would probably have picked out a favorite all his own.

She turned her gaze away and reached for the door handle. No sense in lingering too long. "Apologies." She sat back at the table, reaching for her napkin. "But thank you for the use of your bedroom."

"Of course." He set his fork down. "I hope the call went well."

"Regrettably not."

"Hm, that must be unusual for you."

"We all have masters."

He quirked a brow. "Even the great Cutlena Beckett. My, my."

"Cruelty doesn't suit you."

"No, it doesn't – but you're no stranger to it."

She cut him with a sharp look, irked at his tone, her voice coiling tight. "On either side of it. And to that end – I suggest that you think long and hard about the success of this voyage. Or you'll have no idea just how cruel I can be."

She threw her napkin back down on the table, pushing up from her chair, deciding that she was done with her mostly eaten food. The door to his quarters closed solidly behind her as she stalked down the corridor back to her cabin.

The forgotten question about sonnets would just have to wait for another day.

* * *

"Contact, sir." The leading seaman at the radar called out. "Two points off the starboard bow. Five klicks out, clearing the island."

She watched Norrington glance up on the seaman's call, turning to look towards the radar station. Other points of contact had been called out in a similar fashion during her past observations on the bridge, and they'd all been forgettable. A radio channel crackled open.

" _Have visual. A heavily modified fishing sloop – guns mounted along her port beam. Flying no colors."_

Norrington's face hardened. "Color of the hull?"

" _Nondescript ,gray_."

"Sir!" The radar lead interjected. "She's changed course – moving away from us and gaining speed."

The corner of the commodore's mouth ticked up. "Why run if you've got nothing to hide? Higgins – match course and set pursuit. Close distance to two klicks."

Affirmations of Norrington's orders rang out as the _Providence_ 's massive engines roared to life, filling the ship with a strangely pleasant hum as the bow aligned on their north-northeasterly course, cutting sharply through the water.

Higgins reported back. "She's continuing to run, sir, but we should close the distance in a matter of minutes."

"Very well." Norrington opened another channel. "Man the guns. Stand ready to fire on my mark."

She turned with a furrowed brow. "Stand ready to fire? We don't know the first thing about this vessel."

"She's armed and not flying colors." Norrington said sharply. "Merchant vessels don't come armed and they all fly colors, not only for allegiance, but for protection. We'll confirm once we're in range, but we've likely just caught ourselves a pirate."

She squinted, staring out the bridge windows. Did it really just happen like this? A blip on the radar and the chase is on? She could see the ship growing larger, but it…it didn't look all that impressive. In fact, it looked tiny compared to the _Providence_.

"Change in course, sir. Now tracking northwest by north. Distance two klicks and closing."

Norrington nodded sharply. "Simmons – any colors?"

" _Negative, sir. And no movement on the guns."_

"Acknowledged." Norrington switched a button on his console. "Fire two shots – put one across her bow and another at the waterline."

The command acknowledgement came across the speaker and she barely had time to draw a breath before the massive gun thundered once. Twice. Fantastic sprays of water went up in the distance, the resulting booms muffled across the water.

She licked her lips uncertainly, turning towards him. "And what good did that do?"

"Maritime law," he quickly said. "A shot across the bow requires them to hoist their colors and acknowledge it with a shot."

"If they're pirates, who says they have to follow the law?"

"It's pride at this point." The hint of a mirthless grin flashed across Norrington's face. "No pirate worth his salt would dare leave a challenge by the Royal Navy unanswered – "

" _She's hoisting colors. Black and white bones, sir."_

Another grin, this time decidedly more pleased, lit the commodore's face. "And much like Icarus, that pride will be his downfall." He flipped a switch. "Helm – reduce speed. Gunnery - rake her stern."

The closer the _Providence_ advanced, the clearer she could see the other ship - still executing the course change, turning to present the port broadside of the ship rather than her stern. But the _Providence_ 's guns sang out, the ship shuddering with each thundering boom. Smoke and fire erupted on the back end of the other ship as the shells hit their marks. She stared at the destruction, transfixed.

Would the other ship retaliate? Norrington hadn't commanded the crew to brace for impact. Did ship captains do that in real life? Or was that more of a movie thing?

No one else on the bridge seemed bothered by the attack. Maybe this was just another day in the life for them.

"All hands brace for retaliation." Norrington's words sounded in her ears as she continued to watch.

Would they have any kind of warning?

" _Sir – she's, uh – she's striking her colors."_

Norrington turned from the window with an uncertain pinch to his brow. "Come again, watch?"

" _She's striking her colors."_

"And waving the white?"

" _No white yet, sir."_

Thick black smoke continued to billow from the deck on the other ship's stern.

"Sir," Higgins at the helm looked over, "shall I lay in a course to come alongside?"

"Not yet." He quickly returned. "I will not present our broadside to her until the white flag of surrender is raised."

She swallowed thickly. "Even then, couldn't it still be a trap?"

"It's possible. But that's a thick plume of smoke. She's likely badly damaged to keep smoking like that. A good captain knows that prison is better than a stranded crew at sea."

It took less than five minutes for the white flag to fly, and less than thirty for the _Providence_ to pull alongside the damaged pirate ship. The crew made efficient work of rounding up the pirate crew and assessing the state of the wounded vessel. The efficiency and familiarity with the motions shouldn't have surprised her – this wasn't their first captured pirate vessel, after all – but it was quite something to see it all unfold firsthand.

Norrington strode across the gangway with the full authority of his station, addressing the reports relayed to him and issuing commands in return. She trailed behind him and Theodore, taking in the organized hustle and bustle.

Theodore recounted the numbers as they crossed the deck, the sun glinting off their navy-blue operational uniforms. "The crew of 23 persons is being transferred to the brig. A shell hit the auxiliary lube oil system, disabling the engine, but there's no structural damage so she should stay afloat."

"Then, we'll tow our prize to the nearest port." Norrington took to the stairs leading up to the bridge. "I'm sure there has to be something of value about her." He pushed open the door to the bridge, a lead seaman announcing his arrival. The other _Providence_ sailors snapped to attention, but the two pirate commanders sneered, scoffing derisively. One of them – the taller, burlier man – laughed a snide sound as Norrington stepped up to him, face stone-cold impassive.

"Well, well," the hint of a smug smile tugged at Norrington's lips, "Captain 'Fearful' Phineas Togg. Or was it 'Fearless'?"

Togg spit down at the commodore's feet. "Bloody Norrington. How 'ave they not hung you out to dry? What with all that disgraceful business off Tripoli. Quite embarrassing."

"And yet, you were still apprehended by the likes of me."

Togg chuckled. "Well, I certainly didn't expect the honorable Commodore to be so ballsy."

"Your mistake, clearly." He fixed Togg with a hard look. "What do you know of Sparrow?"

Togg snorted. "Sparrow? He owes me money, that's what I know. A pretty penny, too – well, honestly, far more than a pretty penny. That – and, Jones is after his soul."

Her ears perked on the mention of Jones' name. What else did Togg know about him?

Norrington nodded sharply. "I had heard that Davy Jones brought the _Dutchman_ back to these waters. A curious business."

"The story goes that your lot nearly had him off Singapore, didn't they? What happened? Can you navy lads just not keep up?"

"And you wonder why we have to start taking more aggressive action."

"Careful, commodore." Togg sneered, glaring hard, licking his lips in salacious intimidation. "You hide behind that righteous uniform. But I look forward to the day when you no longer wear it, and you're ripe for the picking."

"So does everyone else that I've arrested." He turned to Theodore with a disinterested look, stepping away from Togg. "Lieutenant, take him to the brig."

Theodore moved forward to carry out the order and her eye couldn't help but follow them out. Assuming that Togg would stay in the brig for the duration of their return journey, he should be easy enough to find. Surely, she could carve out some time to force a discussion.

There was more that she needed to know.

xxx

She stepped out from the command booth, latching the door behind her. The junior seaman had not been pleased with her order, but it didn't directly counter one of Norrington's orders and she was the highest-ranking official on the ship. What choice did he have?

She pushed down the corridor, wrenching open the solid submarine door to admit the dingy, musty interior of the brig. Most of the crew was locked up in the opposing cellblock behind the soundproof door, but Togg was isolated and kept just ahead in a small holding room. The door, painted with only a row of blocky, black numbers, had a small viewport. The sailor in the booth had told her to simply slide the viewport door back to speak with Togg.

She waved over her shoulder with two fingers. The signal for the audio and security camera feed to drop out. She looked down to her watch and started the timer.

The viewport door slid back with a metal groan. "Phineas Tog. Stand present."

A shuffling sounded from within, overlaid with a surprised chuckle. "A lady, eh? Oh, is it you? The one that slunk around in Norrington's shadow on my bridge?"

"The same."

The gruff, unshaven face of the pirate came into view. His foul breath wafted out on his words. "And what you want, girlie? Is the good commodore not man enough to really give it to you? Come down here to get a piece of ol' Togg?"

She fixed him with a flinty gaze. "Davy Jones. When did you last see him?"

"Jones?" He scoffed derisively. "And why would I do anything to help you, hm?"

"You don't know who I am, but I don't answer to the commodore. I have the power to see you released from here, or to see you die slowly at the hand of a flaying knife. Your choice."

His eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion. "You say that…but if I give you Jones, I got no guarantee of your word."

"You're only wasting time, and if you give me Jones – that's a hell of a bargaining chip."

He held her gaze and she stood her ground. "I saw Jones last week. He wanted information on Sparrow. Popular lad."

"Indeed. What did you tell him?"

"Told 'im that I ain't seen Sparrow for at least a fortnight. Didn't give anything away last I did see scurvy Jack, but he was hunting for a map, I think. Or was it a key? Maybe a compass?"

"Where did you see him?"

"Middle of the ocean, doll. Between Barbados and St. Lucia."

"What bearing?"

"Northerly. I didn't pay too much attention."

"What else did Jones say?"

"Like I said – he's after Sparrow's soul. Something about trading a soul for a heart."

A wicked smirk curled her lips. "Glad to hear it."

Togg's brow pinched. "Say now…what's the…" He stepped up closer to the port, his pungent breath burning her nose, but she refused to back away. "Is it your fault? Are you the bitch that Jones was moanin' about? Makin' him grumblier than usual. And far more quick to temper."

"Jones' love problems are his own. I'm a businesswoman, plain and simple."

"Ain't nothing simple 'bout you, lady." A gleeful light caught in his eyes. "Oh, but just wait until I tell the commodore. Won't he just love to know that he's got a pirate spy in the midst of his navy nest. In his own bed, perhaps."

"You'll hold your tongue, or I'll have it cut out."

"Not without due process."

"Fuck due process. Test me at your own risk, bastard." She cast a glance down at her watch. 30 seconds left. "Anything else you want to tell me?"

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Go to hell, bitch. If Jones don't roast you first, then I hope the commodore fucks you one over good."

"Charming. Thank you." She slammed the viewport door closed with five seconds to spare. She reset her watch, dropping her hands to her side. The security camera had to be recording again, and it would see her still standing as she was before the camera blipped out.

She turned from the cell and left the barren dank of the brig behind, replaying Togg's words. At least, it was satisfying to know that Jones took his orders seriously - and hopefully the news about Ms. Dalma still hadn't reached him yet. A soul for a heart, indeed. If Jones did ever hope to see his lady love again, he would hand over Jack Sparrow - or they would simply find Ms. Dalma again.

She couldn't help a dark chuckle as she took the stairs back up towards the main deck.

Norrington was in a race that he didn't even know about. If he failed to capture Sparrow, Plan B sounded on track to accomplish the same goal. Either way, it was just a matter of time now.

Sparrow would be brought to justice. Jones, too. And if Togg had to suffer the gallows to ensure his silence, then so be it.

* * *

Would this storm never end? The ship pitched and yawed in the seachurn long before sunup and had not abated since. She hadn't even kept track of the time from her current position, slumped against the wall of her head.

The Dramamine wasn't strong enough today. Her head spun and her throat burned from the stomach acid that continually refused to stay down. She hadn't even been able to summon the constitution to get dressed, let alone walk to the bridge or mess.

She groaned as another wave of nausea rolled through her, hugging her midsection. God, but this seasickness business was hell. At least she'd finally emptied her stomach and now it was just dry heaves. Like now. She lurched forward as the ship rolled, miserably heaving with the involuntary reflex but there was just nothing left.

She shifted back to lean on the bulkhead, her eyes slipping closed. Wasn't there some way to sail around this damnable storm? Didn't the weather radars give them any kind of advance warning?

She was too wrapped up to hear the opening of her cabin door or the soft footfalls on the floor. But when she heard the quiet clearing of a throat, she cracked an eye open to see Norrington standing there. She knew how she must look – face gaunt, hair bedraggled, in her cotton pajama trousers and t-shirt – braless. It was completely unfair that he looked just as put together as always, giving no outward sign that this shipboard day was any different from the last.

She sighed, hoping there wasn't vomit on her face or in her hair. "What a mess, hmm?"

"I've seen worse."

She tried to affect a laugh, but her throat was just too raw. "Thanks for the lie."

A small grin cracked his face, but there was nothing teasing or mocking about it. "When I didn't see you on the bridge this morning, I figured you might be under the weather. I've brought you some benign food, in case it helps."

That's when she noticed that he held a small plate of scrambled eggs and applesauce in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. Warmth burst in her chest and she felt a slight blush creep to her cheeks. "You didn't have to do that."

"You didn't really think everyone would leave you alone all day, did you?"

The ship pitched forward, and she groaned, fighting back another nauseous wave. A moan punched out of her as she scrambled forward, wracked with another bout of dry heaves. Her cheeks burned with the full force of shame, unable to shake the knowledge that he watched her, utterly exposed in her weak moment.

It passed at last, and she slumped back to the wall, again hugging her midsection as she gulped down air. She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him. "There's just nothing left anymore."

"Then, you should at least have some water." His voice was unflinchingly kind. She'd never heard him sound so gentle. "I don't want you in sickbay from dehydration. And perhaps a little food might settle out all the churned-up acid."

His shoes thudded on the thin linoleum as he approached, and a knee popped as he crouched beside her. She could smell the scent of soap about him and grimaced to think how she must smell by comparison.

"Come on, Cutlena." The barest of hint of a command laced his soft words and it forced her eyes open. He held out the bottle of the water and she reached a shaking hand up to take it.

Admittedly, it was a welcome relief as the first sip passed her dry lips. She took another tentative sip, waiting for the inevitable. But then she took another, larger drink, swirling it around her mouth before swallowing it down. Maybe he was more an angel of mercy than she wanted to admit.

She met his green eyes, creased with concern, and felt her lips tug into a small smile despite herself. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He extended the plate forward, nodding at the small bowl of applesauce. "Now, just take a few bites."

She eyed the food skeptically, unsure if she should really trust it to her stomach quite yet despite her gurgling belly. At length, she set the bottle down, reaching out for the bowl and accompanying spoon. What did she really have to lose? "Would you mind waiting out there…and closing the door? Just in case."

"I told you I've seen worse."

"Not from me you haven't."

He offered a closed-mouth smirk that was just a touch sympathetic but still unmistakable. "You may be a bigshot at the EITC, but you're on my ship – eat."

She exhaled a displeased sigh, doing her best to scowl up at him even though she knew she wasn't overly intimidating from her present vantage point. Not that she had ever matched his height even when they were both standing. She took a small bite, swallowing gingerly.

In fact, his height had always struck her for a naval officer. Tight ship corridors and cramped quarters were surely obnoxious for him, but not that he would ever give an indication. She took another small bite. That was probably why he served on surface ships instead of submarines.

Surprisingly enough, the food did seem to help. She swallowed another bite, looking tentatively up at him "May…may I have the water?"

He reached for the bottle at her side, handing it over as the ship rolled. She closed her eyes against the movement, clenching her mouth shut, dreading the rise in her stomach. Mercifully, nothing followed. She placed the bottle to her chapped lips, taking a small sip. The cool slide down her throat was most welcome.

"Has it always been this bad?"

She shook her head slowly, taking another small sip. "I've been on yachts several times. As a kid, I never got sick. But about three years ago, it started. And the last time – the last time, I struggled. But it was nothing like this storm." She burped on the word, relieved when nothing else followed it, despite the lurching ship.

"This storm?" He cast his eyes ceilingward, as if looking out to the storm beyond. "I hate to tell you that this is just the storm's outfall. It would have been much worse if we were in the heart of it."

"Like that storm off Tripoli?"

"Yes," his voice was soft, far away, "like that storm."

She bit the spoon hesitantly, taking a deep breath to help stall the nauseous wave rolling through her. "That…that must have been hell beyond measure."

"It was. For all of us. And it didn't end when the storm passed."

"I know that." She took another deep breath and another sip of water. "In fact, one might say that you're still in that shitstorm."

"Quite so." He kept his tone guarded, but his green eyes shone with much more that he didn't say.

She couldn't say why, but a chord of regret stung in her. He had come to help her and she had still managed to deride him. Maybe she was just a bitch at heart.

She glanced up at him, offering a weak, apologetic look. "Sorry, I…I should just thank you for helping. So…thank you."

His lips pulled to a soft, kind smile. It really shouldn't make her stomach flip – or was that still the ship?

"You're welcome. Though, really, it's Groves you should thank for the applesauce – that was his idea." He watched the corner of her lips tug up, curiosity brewing in his eyes. "I know this isn't, strictly speaking, official business – but the mutual affection shared between you and Groves isn't lost to me."

She tried to affect a laugh and failed. "Is that meant to be a threat? Or is that jealousy talking?"

"No. But it is a curious thing." He tilted his head in consideration. "Rather begs the question if you two are in league to guarantee my removal, whatever the cost. Groves stands to profit largely if I should lose my post."

"You couldn't be more wrong. I don't need to fall in league with Groves or anyone to do my job." Another burp worked its way up her throat and she pinched her eyes shut against another rolling wave. "He…he just wants to rekindle an old flame. That's all."

His face hardened with inscrutable lines, a face she recognized from official command meetings. "Is that what you want?"

Anger sparked in her eyes. "And what sort of question is that? Didn't you already admit that it wasn't official business?"

"Not official business, but it is my business to know everything that happens on my ship."

She scoffed. "Well, you needn't worry about that on _your_ ship. Especially not right now." She vaguely gestured at herself. "Nothing about this is desirable at the moment."

He merely pursed his lips in a tight expression, looking down to the plate still in his hand. "Would you like to try the eggs?"

She tipped her head back against the bulkhead, swallowing. "No. Not right now. I want to make sure the applesauce settles, first."

"Reasonable enough." He turned from the doorway, walking back into her cabin. "I'll secure them on the desk for you, but I need to return to the bridge. If you don't show up for morning mess tomorrow, I'll come back to check on you."

"Reasonable enough." Her echo of his words came out more as a mockery. She could just make out the small, amused lift of his lips from where he stood.

"I hope that you feel better. We should be past the outfall within the next couple of hours."

She nodded her thanks, tipping the water bottle in a farewell salute as he turned for the door.

With any luck, she wouldn't die before then.


	6. Chapter 6

It was only after their return to Port Royal that she realized just how lucky they'd been to come upon Phineas Togg and the _Hopeless Wanderer_. Unless there was a credible source of intel and coordinates, locating a pirate ship just by happenstance during open ocean travel was a difficult feat. It begged the constant question in her mind.

If you couldn't catch a pirate ship, then how do you trap them? How did you make them want to come to you? But why in seven hells would a pirate ever want to come to a battlecruiser? Nothing about the ship was subtle – whether up close or at a distant, it was impossible not to recognize the silhouette, the prominent guns. And then even easier for the pirate to reserve the engine a'stern and stay out of range.

The question churned in her brain for days.

Until the idea hit her like lightning.

"No." She interrupted the meeting at hand. She couldn't even say what the specific topic of conversation was, but the assembled company of Norrington, Groves and Swann all stared at her.

Swann's brow furrowed, blinking uncertainly. "No…? Are you saying the reports are inaccurate?"

"Oh, sod the reports," she pressed forward, the idea solidifying in her mind, "if we want to trap a pirate, we have to think like pirates. We can't continue to go charging around in a battlecruiser. We might as well just pull our pants down and bend over right now."

The governor stammered, aghast, but she heard Groves' soft, throaty hum of amusement.

Norrington's face was all the usual calm reserve. "Then by all means, what do you suggest."

"A disguise. If I remember rightly, the _Demeter_ is due into port soon, and I think a refit might just be in order. We keep it a merchant vessel on the outside, but fortify it on the inside. Like the sailing ships of old – only run out our guns on close approach. For how else do you get a pirate to come to you? Give them the promise of what they want – a richly loaded merchant vessel just prime for the taking - then blast them to hell."

Another amused sound came from Groves. "And this fortified merchant vessel would be crewed by who? Your EITC lackies?"

"Of course not," she shook her head, unable to believe that he didn't get it, "no, it would be crewed by the Caribbean fleet's finest. But without the military uniforms and salutes – just merchant sailor to merchant sailor."

Norrington's brow pinched with disgust. "You're suggesting placement of naval sailors on a ship without naval discipline protocols?"

"At least on the surface," she looked up to him with a shrug, "flog whoever you like on the interior decks, but we must fully present the image of a civilian merchant vessel. Otherwise, it doesn't matter how alluring the tales of gold and goods in our hold are. And make no mistake – the newly-rechristined _Icarus_ will be too sweet a honeytrap to ignore by even the least reckless pirate." She didn't miss the flash of recognition in Norrington's eyes on the proposed ship name. She had only recently heard that name from him, after all.

Swann looked between everyone at the table, seemingly blown away. "Well, my goodness. That's quite a proposal, Ms. Beckett."

"Indeed." She beamed proudly. "And there's no better time than the present to start working on it. I'll get word –."

Norrington cut her off, swift and cold. "I haven't agreed to it yet, and without my sailors, your idea doesn't leave port."

She leveled him with a stern glare. "You have no authority to countermand my decisions. If you have reasonable objections or concerns voice them for resolution, but this is not open to debate."

"Then, allow me to raise a legitimate concern, chiefly regarding your shipboard presence."

Offense flared in her gaze as she lifted an indignant brow. "You don't get my ship to make any of this happen without me onboard. Non-negotiable."

"My concern stems from our last voyage, and your general incapacitation with the conditions for an extended life at sea. Because make no mistake – what you're talking about will require months at sea, continually sailing from port to port, until we catch our man."

"There's nothing for it. Life on Dramamine, I suppose." She didn't see a reason to gloss over her seasickness. Groves already knew about it, and Swann couldn't use that knowledge against her. "Without me onboard, the paperwork – the fake invoices, the manifests – to say nothing of the funds that we'll need to literally stay afloat – will not happen. So, that's the deal – your sailors, under your command – all under my authority."

"Life at sea, in the guise of civilians." Norrington cast a wry look to Groves. "You're rather quiet about this."

Groves shook his head, widening his eyes with a sigh. "It's a lot to digest. And yes, it sounds a little half-baked at this point, but a refit – hell, an overhaul – of that magnitude will take some time. Who's to say it couldn't be a fully baked plan by the time we leave port? I'll admit that it certainly has the element of surprise, and as long as the EITC is fronting the bills, what do we really have to lose?"

"Good men." Norrington corrected firmly. "Everyone aboard that ship will be at high risk. Disguises only work for so long, and each time we encounter an opponent, we must be the victor. Otherwise, our secret will be blown, and we've expended time and effort – possibly lives – with nothing to show for it."

She looked to him, a challenge in her gaze. "Then, you better choose your crew wisely, captain."

Norrington looked to Groves, a forced resignation in his gaze. "I hope you can stomach a temporary demotion, first mate."

Groves' answering smile held familiar playful mischief. "I think I can handle it, sir."

"Very well. Prepare a roster of proposed crew for my approval. Keep the selection hush – I will not have this venture joining the rumor mill before it even gets off the ground."

She smiled, proud. "Or into port."

Swann looked between them with a hopeful smile. "Well, Ms. Beckett – I must say, you do not disappoint. Nor will I say anything to give the game away. I'll draft up service papers that will have the commodore, Lieutenant Groves, and the rest of their crew assigned to a classified mission of the utmost discretion."

"Excellent." She looked among the three men. "I'll check in with the ship and arrange drydock space."

"She may be your ship, but she's under my command." Norrington fixed her with a hard look. "Her re-provisioning will be done under my purview. Non-negotiable."

She smiled, conceding the point. "Of course. It simply wouldn't do for the captain to not know his own ship." She rose, holding out her hand. "We are agreed?"

He paused for the briefest of seconds but met her hand in a firm shake. "We are agreed."

* * *

Come to find out, the renamed _Icarus_ was quite possibly the worst ship suited for the proposed venture. The engineers bemoaned constant reminders that she was not designed for naval service, and no amount of refit could fortify her superstructure to meet all of the commodore's exacting standards. It became a constant battle to keep the engineers moving forward and drive compromises with the commodore.

" _I will not leave us exposed like that."_

 _She sighed, frustrated. "The engineers said it's a finite amount of weight we can add. The_ Icarus _is not a battlecruiser, commodore. You cannot have everything that you're used to."_

" _The defense radar and answering system is a must to ward off long-range attacks."_

" _We'll be a merchant vessel – there shouldn't be any long-range attacks launched on us."_

" _Pirates don't play by the rules. It'd be far easier to disable us at a distance, then approach for looting."_

" _Do most merchant vessels have these defense capabilities?"_

" _No, but we're not most merchant vessels."_

" _We cannot risk anything that would give us away. The point is only to engage once the enemy is in close range. Otherwise, we risk being no different than the pirates. We certainly won't be engaging battleships."_

" _Which are over-gunned compared to the capabilities of your average pirate ship."_

" _Then you decide what we lose. A compliment of torpedoes? Recon radar or sonar buoys? Armored plating? We are adding so much armored plating."_

 _His lips pursed in a tight line, considering. It was still abundantly clear that he was not the most pleased with this plan, but he was following orders and honoring his agreement._

" _I reserve the right to reconfigure shipboard capabilities as our mission progresses. The long-range defense systems can be scratched. Losing our armored plating presents more of a risk, and if we can't defend ourselves, then we better be prepared for a full-out assault. But if our secret gets out – we will put into drydock and rethink our modus operandi. Do I make myself clear?"_

But finally, the last appointments had been installed. The last bolts tightened, and the last rivets welded.

It was finally time to set sail.

The Caribbean sun shone bright in the clear sky as she squinted up at the loading crane, at the empty shipping container rigged in its webbing. Despite what the clipboard of manifests in her hand said, she knew it was empty. The ship simply couldn't handle the additional load.

Every last ounce of available cargo load limit had been commandeered for use by naval service and defense. But no one would ever know it to glance at the ship's decks and newly painted hull. In fact, the _Icarus_ was probably cleaner now than when she had first put to sea.

The dock around her bustled with minimal activity from the crew. Groves had remarked on countless occasions that it was rather enjoyable to train the crew for this mission. To purposefully allow the shirking of naval discipline and protocol, and present the appearance of an average civilian crew. Of course, Norrington still expected full decorum behind closed doors.

Well, he could expect whatever he liked so long as he didn't jeopardize the mission.

The hand signal went up from Groves on deck as the container settled into place and the sailors around him worked to secure it.

Not Groves, though, she had to remind herself. Theodore Ellis, now.

And not Norrington or Beckett, either. Nor Cutlena, for that matter.

It felt like something right out of a spy movie. Going undercover and all that. An amused grin lit her face as she checked off the manifest, a confirmation that everything had indeed been loaded. With a satisfied sigh, she turned and surveyed the last of the preparations. Dollies wheeled goods up the gangway. Two men wound a large coil of rope. The commodore strode towards her with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

She'd never seen him out of his crisp naval attire before. Dressed now in navy cargo pants and a khaki button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, he made for a fine merchant captain. The garish gold of his shoulder epaulettes announced his rank as he approached, his face carefully blank. For all the outside world, he looked just like another could-care-less civillian captain. Well, except for the tidily combed hair.

"Cathleen," he tipped his head in greeting, "are we ready to sail?"

"Oh yes, Captain Davenport." Her answering smile was bubbly and sweet. "The last container just hit the deck. Ellis has already signaled successful capture."

"Excellent."

She nodded in agreement, playfully raking her eyes up and down his long body. Irritation flashed in his gaze when she met it. "You're looking good, captain. There's just one thing…." She reached a hand up, rising to her tip-toes. His hair carded smoothly through her fingers as she ruffled it, taking advantage of the product in it to effect a messy, bedhead look. She pulled back, smirking in satisfaction and appreciation because, holy hell – it was a good look on him.

His mouth pulled to a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Satisfied now?"

"Mmm, not until you have a day or so worth of stubble to match."

"Not bloody likely." His grip tightened on the duffle as he moved on towards the gangplank. She couldn't help but chuckle at his retreating figure. This voyage would either be the death of him, or force him to actually relax a little. Was that even possible? Probably not with everything that was on the line.

He turned back around, face impassive as he fished in a pocket. "Oh, by the way." He raised his hand, tossing a small, white, rattling object into the air towards her. She caught it, glancing down to see that it was a bottle of Dramamine. "Try taking that before we sail this time. I think you'll find it works better before the symptoms start." He turned without another word, continuing on towards the ship as if he hadn't turned back at all.

She stared back at him, impressed with the man's cheek. It was almost too bad he didn't show that side of himself more often.

Maybe, just maybe, this voyage would be more enlightening than she thought.

The days bled into weeks and turned into months. She knew the venture would take a while to gain traction, for their name and reputation to spread. In a way, it was oddly peaceful. The days at sea, traveling from port to port. Signing off phony manifests and onboarding new equally-bogus inventories. Moving empty shipping containers around with ease.

Everyone had become oddly accustomed to their undercover surnames. Admittedly, it had started off a little awkward, but once everyone settled into a routine, the days were largely uneventful.

Well, except for the time she found the mess table covered in nudie magazines.

 _The leading seaman chuckled, clearly amused as he cut into the magazine page. "I'd give anything to see the Ruskis' faces." The group of four other sailors chuckled in agreement as they each worked with a magazine, cutting into the pages and discarding the trimmings._

 _Another scoffed. "Hell, they'll probably scrape off the food and try to eat it! Be sure to get out all the good parts, now."_

 _She looked to the pile of discarded clippings, noting that they were cutting out all the explicit parts of the images. Her lips quirked, bemused. "What on earth are you doing?"_

" _Hello, ma'am," the leading seaman looked up with a nod, "we're preparing a surprise for our Russian friends."_

" _Russian friends?"_

" _Yes, ma'am. We picked up a flea."_

" _A so-called 'fishing trawler'," another sailor supplied, "but fishing trawler my ass."_

 _He motioned to the magazine in front of him. "So, we're preparing a nice treat for them."_

 _She cocked a wry brow. "By cutting out all the x-rated parts?"_

 _Another low chuckle rose from the group. "Yes, ma'am. And dousing them in cook's old chow from last week."_

 _Her nose wrinkled. "That's disgusting."_

" _Yes, ma'am. When they see this trash bag doesn't sink, and they scoop it up – they'll think they struck gold. All kinds of British commerce secrets just theirs for the taking. But when they cut it open, it'll be a contest of who doesn't toss their cookies on the spot."_

 _She cocked a brow. "Does Groves know what you're about?"_

" _Whose idea do you think this was?"_

She'd asked Theodore about it later, assuming that such an activity was only allowed because they weren't on a true military vessel. He instantly corrected her. Apparently, a shenanigan of that caliber was quite commonplace among the seamen. Though, very rarely did officers get involved.

It didn't surprise her in the least that Theodore was enjoying this tour. Everything about this subterfuge played right to his personal brand of bold mischief.

And for his part, Norrington captained the ship with a strangely easy efficiency. He either didn't know about the crew's shenanigans or he chose to ignore it. Her money was on the latter – so long as the crew continued to perform to his expectations, he didn't seem to be a total buzzkill.

The _Icarus_ wasn't a large vessel, and it was hard to keep personal business private. As the only woman and non-military personnel aboard, that had put her at an immediate disadvantage. Only until she stocked the galley with filet mignon, scotch and cigars one night. The crew took a decidedly more relaxed, accepting stance on her presence after that night. Even the commodore had indulged. And as she puffed her cigar alongside him and his crew, a page had turned.

It still brought a smile to her face as she took another pull from the rum bottle. There hadn't been much left in the bottom, and it had been such a lovely find from their last stop in St. Lucia. Loose strands of her hair caught in the breeze as she rested her forearms on the deck railing, looking out over the dark water. She pressed the bottle back to her lips, taking another swig.

This had become a favorite night routine. To find this railing just off the quarter deck and watch the dark horizon slip by, the flashing lights out over the water. It gave her time to think. To focus. To take stock of the situation. Maybe it also had something to do with the season. It was Christmas day, after all.

It was far from her first one spent away from London, and the holiday had never held a lot of familial warmth. She took another swig from the bottle, silently toasting the holiday. Let the rest of the world soldier on its merry way, but oddly enough, it struck her how content she was to just be on this faux merchant ship in the middle of the Caribbean.

"Is this the reason the color in your cheeks is much heartier than the last time we put to sea?" She turned at the sound of Norrington's voice, not letting her surprise show. She'd stood by this railing countless nights but he had never once joined her before.

Now she watched as he came to a stop next to her, resting his elbows on the railing as he casually leaned back against it. His sleeves were rolled up to expose his forearms to the balmy night air, his tousled hair catching in the breeze as the ship continued to cut through the night.

Had she ever seen him look so relaxed before?

She held out the bottle towards him. "If that's a knock against my seasickness, I don't intend to fall that indisposed again."

"I rather doubt that was your intention the first time."

"True." She conceded. "The drugs are proving more effective this time around. Though, we have yet to encounter another storm." She sighed, shaking the bottle, her brow pinching as he remained still. "That was…considerate of you before we set sail."

He flashed a wry smirk, at last reaching for the bottle. "It wasn't considerate. It's a captain's job to look out for the crew and that includes you, for the time being."

"Almost makes me wonder if you suffer similarly. Otherwise, I would expect that sort of advice to come from Dr. Powell."

"No. Suffering from seasickness at all would make me a poor sailor indeed."

"Indeed." She eyed him sharply. "Is that why you're here? To tease me? Or insult me?"

"No, on both counts." He tilted his head back to look up at the starry sky, taking another sip from the bottle. "You come here every night for a time. Thought I would see if I'm missing something."

She snorted a laugh. "Well if you were, you're facing the wrong way, for starters. The sea horizon is behind you"

"Don't be so sure."

"No?"

"No."

She shook her head, exhaling amused frustration, taking the bottle back. "This is a productive conversation."

"Who said it had to be? I highly doubt that your loitering and boozing here is productive."

"But this is my time. We're not strategizing or actively hunting. I'm allowed my time to think and process the day, while you captain your bridge."

"Perry's on shift now. Perhaps I'm processing my day, too."

"Right here next to me?"

"There are worse places to be."

What on earth had come over him? She drew a breath to ask, but paused when she felt the rumble of the engines fade. The pleasant, familiar hum of the turbines dropped to a whisper as the ship's forward momentum slowed.

She turned to him, brows furrowed while he looked completely unbothered. "Why are we stopping? Is this Perry's doing? Yours?"

"It's Christmas. The crew should be allowed some time to celebrate." The corner of his lips lifted fondly as he regarded the ship behind her. "Besides, this tub of yours has plenty of heart, but her bones aren't strong. Best to rest the old girl for a night, give her a chance to breathe."

"She's made of metal and mechanical systems. They'll function as they're designed to function without regard for her heart. Which doesn't exist."

"Spoken like a true landlubber." He shook his head with a knowing air of surety. "I told you once that ships have a life force of their own. Much like the sea – a harsh mistress, indeed - merciful as can be cruel. Well, much like any woman, I suppose – limits must be respected before favor is granted."

"Spoken like a man who has only known a string of broken hearts." There was something compelling on the thought and she looked over at him, angling in towards him, taking another drink. "How long have you been at sea?"

"You've seen my service record."

"Which starts when you were a midshipman at sixteen. I meant before that – your first time."

"Getting a bit personal, aren't we?"

She shrugged, handing him back the bottle. "I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours."

"To be clear, we are still talking about time at sea, yes?"

"Unless you feel like getting even more personal."

He huffed the barest hint of a laugh against the bottle lip. "I grew up on the water. Father had a five-meter cutter. As early as five or six, I remember helping to heave to and take in sails. In winter, there was ice to chip off. In summer, we'd swim. I was fourteen the first time he let me take it out alone."

"Alone in a five-meter cutter? At fourteen?"

He stared back at her, raising an eyebrow at the challenge as he held out the bottle.

She shook her hair out of her eyes, taking it from him. "I was sixteen before I even set foot on a boat. Father had a friend with a yacht. Mind you, we were only invited out because the friend was a perverted old bastard who wanted to see a young girl in a bikini. We went out every summer after that, for a week or so at a time. I tried to beg it off when I was in uni – I'd had enough of that man's stares to last a lifetime – but father insisted."

"That sounds awful."

"It was. Fortunately, he never tried to touch."

"Were you as intimidating back then?"

"You find me intimidating?"

"Personally, no. But you have such a strong persona, it would be easy to overawe those who are not so sure of themselves."

She shrugged, raising the bottle. "I had nothing to prove to the lecherous old creep."

"Was that last voyage your first brush with seasickness?"

"At its worst. At the time, I hoped it was just sheer revulsion to the onboard company. But after the _Providence_ , I'm forced to reconsider."

"It still might be the company. You've had to deal with me on both ships."

"You may be a lot of things but you are far from revolting."

"Getting personal now, are we?"

She shrugged, offering the bottle. "I was twenty and his name was Derek. A self-obsessed director who lost interest in me after seven months because I wasn't one of his leading ladies."

"I really didn't need to know that."

"You're the one who keeps mentioning getting personal."

He wasn't petty enough to roll his eyes, but his relenting sigh spoke just as well as he took a drink. "Eighteen, with a nurse named Angela."

"Older woman, hmm?"

"No, she was schooling at a teaching hospital."

"And you didn't propose marriage on the spot?"

He cocked a brow. "Does that honestly surprise you?"

She shrugged, taking the bottle back. "You did say you were an old fashioned sort."

"Not that old fashioned."

"Ok then, so where were you? At the hospital?"

"No."

"We were on his couch, if that helps."

"It doesn't."

"Oh come on. You can't clam up on me now – you've already kissed and told."

"Would you really want someone else knowing those details about you?"

"I just told you we were on his couch. Do I need to detail the position to convince you that this isn't bashful for me."

"Please no." He licked his lips, obviously considering. "It was her bed."

"Sounds romantic."

"As romantic as two fumbling teens can be. "

"First time for both of you?"

"Obviously wasn't that way for you?"

"One of us needed to know what we were doing. He was a couple years older."

"Like 'em older, do you?"

"It's not the age, it's the man. I wouldn't say no to younger on principal." It struck her that he was about a year younger than she was. Did he know that, too? She raised the bottle, noting only a couple of swigs left.

She held it back out to him. "Almost gone. We should cheers to our first Christmas."

He shook his head, huffing with dry amusement before taking a drink. "Quite the first Christmas."

"Mmm, how _ever_ will we explain it to the children." The lift in her lips matched the tease in her tone.

He took a last drink, licking his lips to chase the last drop. "Their mother is quite ruthless. But brilliant."

Her heart dropped through the deck. What the hell kind of admission was that? Sure, she'd always thought him attractive, but to…even consider that he actually _returned_ the interest? The whole conversation had been teasingly playful, borderline intimate, but…was he actually serious? How fucked up was that? She was sent here to possibly destroy his livelihood, and then we goes and says something like that?

She swallowed, trying to keep her tone light. "I thought I was untrustworthy."

"Only in your current capacity. Beyond that? Who knows. There might be hope for you, yet." He held out the bottle and she took it back, purposefully brushing his fingers.

She hummed in consideration, drinking the last drop. Well, if he was being truthful, then what did she have to lose? "They're fortunate to have such an honorable father. Whose commitment to his duty is unwavering, even in the face of such odds."

"It's the job."

"No. It's who you are."

"Same could be said for you."

She huffed a self-deprecating sound. "What a pair."

His lips pulled to an intriguing, secretive smirk as he pushed off the railing to stand. "Something to consider." He nodded his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "Goodnight, Cutlena. Happy Christmas."

"Goodnight, James. Happy Christmas to you, too."

She watched him go, unable to shake the fluttering warmth in her chest. God, just like a lovesick teenager. Even though she damn well knew better. This was about doing her job and nothing more. No matter if he was interested, whether it be masochistic or genuine. And no matter how much she was interested in return.

It was supposed to be a night of peace, but her mind refused to quiet as she lay awake in her bunk later that night. Analyzing and reanalyzing the conversation, trying to come up with something – anything – that she could take solace in. But, sadly, there was no answer to be found about James right now.

James. Hmm. She could get used to that. Fortunately, she excelled at compartmentalization. James, off-duty. Norrington, on-duty.

When the light of dawn crept through her porthole and the circles under her eyes refused to fade, she hated herself for every last minute.

She hated herself even more for it when they encountered high seas the next day.

 _It was the most confusing ship-wide announcement. "Secure for sea! Secure for sea!"_

 _They were already at sea. How exactly was she supposed to secure for sea now?_

 _But the crew sprung into action like they were born to answer the call. Coils of straps and ropes exploded into view from hidden compartments. Everyone set to work lashing down anything that could move or topple over. The shipping container restraints were doubled; desk and tabletops were cleared, goods stashed in drawers or cabinets; TV and bluray players tied down; the plates, bowls, silverware all stowed and lashed down._

 _Trash bags were distributed and stuffed in back pockets. The more seasoned sailors balked at such a greenhorn symbol, but the_ Icarus _was a fair size smaller than what they were accustomed too, and likely more subject to pitching, yawing, and rolling. And sure enough, as the ship hit a 20+ degree roll, more than one sailor turned green. In fact, it was almost a game amongst the crew – who could get the other sailors to toss their cookies the most. Sometimes, all it took was standing in front of someone and swaying with the ship._

 _She'd never put much stock in divine authority, but each time the ship rolled, she strongly reconsidered. Especially when a roll passed 5 degrees, 10, and upwards of 20 – there was nothing to stop the ship from rolling outright to 90 degrees. The crew had very unhelpfully explained that a 90-degree roll meant the ship had rolled over completely on its side and capsized._

 _She didn't need that knowledge to add her already knotted, seasick gut._

 _The details got fuzzy as the high seas continued to batter the ship. Food was distributed at one point – paper goods only – and it might have just been soup and bread. The Dramamine may have helped with normal seas, but there was little to be done against these waters._

 _Yet – somehow – ship business continued. Each time a sailor soiled a trash bag, another would be stuffed in a back pocket to await the next wave of sickness. It was truly disgusting._

 _Even Norrington looked a little undone by the high seas. She did remember that – seeing him, with his hair even more disheveled than the relaxed style he'd begrudgingly adopted, skin pale and a touch green. Dark stubble even colored his jaw. Was that a true testament to the rough waters?_

 _The only amusing thing about the whole thing – if there was such a thing – and it had never occurred to her before – but the vast majority of chairs all had wheels. In fact, it became standard practice to look around a room before entering, lest a chair come rolling across the floor with the yawing ship and smash into someone._

 _But those few meetings in the wardroom had been particularly amusing. Yes, there were ropes that at least kept the chairs somewhat in range of the table. But if the ship rolled and she didn't hold on? Well, she had slid into Groves' chair plenty of times. It even caught Norrington off-guard a couple of times and when she wasn't rolling in a nauseous wave, it was worth laughing at. In fact, the whole scene was worth laughing at – six adults sliding around the wardroom in wheeled chairs._

 _It certainly put the rest of the wardroom meetings into perspective._

A distant wave of nausea rolled through her on the memory despite the calm waters now. A steady breeze blew in the night air, just enough to keep the mosquitos away from where she sat perched on the edge of the quarter deck, overlooking the poop deck. Plumes of smoke wafted up from the sailors gathered below as they smoked, laughed and sang.

It hadn't taken more than two weeks from initial departure for the three musicians onboard to have the same schedule rotation, and now, these relaxed jam sessions were almost a biweekly occurrence. The off-duty crew always did seem to enjoy it. And even she had to admit – the mix of guitar, mandolin, and accordion was actually quite entertaining, and the sailors were rather good. Of course, they could knock out a bawdy sea shanty or folk song, but the random mix of pop and rock songs always kept it lively.

Though, if she heard 'Whiskey in the Jar' one more time, she might have to outlaw it.

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind did the guitar and mandolin start the dreaded, familiar opening notes, a few sailors whistling and clapping their approval. She pursed her lips, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She couldn't remember the last time she'd let it grow out so long, almost touching her shoulders now.

Movement shuffled off to her left and she glanced over, the corner of her mouth ticking up as Theodore stopped beside her, dropping to sit.

She nodded down at the men, clapping with the rousing chorus. "This is your doing, isn't it?"

"Me?" He looked innocent. "I didn't put the whiskey in the jar."

"No, but you set the crew rotation schedule to put those three together."

"Oh, you can't begrudge them this."

"I don't. What I begrudge is hearing the same damn song every time they get together."

"Can't fault them for knowing how to please the crowd. It's also an easy tune to play - one of the earlier ones that I learned."

Surprise flashed on her face. "I didn't know you played."

"I told you there's a lot that's new."

"Then why aren't you down there with them?"

"They don't need the first mate to interfere. Besides, two guitars might just drown out the mandolin." He clapped in rhythm with the song, singing a bar. " _Mush-a-ring dumb-a do dumb-a da; wack fall the daddy-o._ " He nudged her with an elbow.

She sighed, with a side-eye roll. " _Wack fall the daddy-o; there's whiskey in the jar._ "

He smiled, proud and amused. "See? You're just as bad."

"Trust me, this isn't something I'll take back to the boardroom."

He chuckled softly, sighing a relaxed sound. "Surely, even you can admit this is nice. Easy days, just taking to the sea."

"The sea was never my calling, but this has been…." She searched for the best word. Revealing? Pleasant? "Oddly enjoyable."

"Ooo, high praise indeed from the particular Cutlena Beckett."

"You're a menace."

"Only to you, perhaps. And only then, off duty."

She shook her head as the song wrapped. A vigorous round of clapping and cheering rose up from the deck below. Another song started on top of it, a thumping, rhythmic number with horrifically off-tone screeching vocals. No, no one should be allowed to butcher Led Zeppelin 'Immigrant Song' like that.

He bobbed his head with the music for the space of a few bars. "An APB came out today for a new captain on the seas. Only known as Captain Henry. Running amok in a fishing sloop with an honest-to-God cannon on the bow."

"A cannon?" She turned towards him with pinched brows. "How on earth did he manage that?"

"Well, the APB came out after the robbery of a historical fort. Guess what was listed among the stolen?"

A laugh startled out of her. "Impossible. How does one steal a cannon? You can't exactly just carry it out."

"Hence why this Captain Henry is a true scourge, a degenerate who must be brought to account. And who must return the cannon." He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Lord help us when such men take to the sea."

"Mm, it's a wonder his fishing sloop could stay afloat with that much extra weight. With all the troubles we had to go through outfitting this ship with armaments, I can only imagine how that went."

"So long as she floats."

"So long. Well, let's hope he sets his cannon's sight on us. That's something I shouldn't like to explain to the board."

"What? A ship sunk by cannon fire? Like something out of the golden age of sail."

"Exactly."

"If anyone could do it, you could."

Her mouth ticked up. "I don't doubt that I could, but it doesn't speak to the success of our venture."

"Come on, it's you." He looked at her like it was the most obvious thing. "That will come, just maybe not tonight. So don't spoil it. Especially when I just want to be near you and not talk official business."

"Well, you're the one who brought up the APB." His words shouldn't flatter her, but dammit, they did. He did. Being around him day in and day out had that effect. Why was it so hard to let go of him? And really, falling in with Theodore would be far less complicated than James. But was that what she really wanted?

A new song drifted up. _In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea; and he told us of his life in the land of submarines._

"You're not allowed to say anything against this song." He said softly. "That's treason against the Crown." He raised his right hand with an admonishing gesture, the movement tugging on his rolled shirtsleeve to reveal more of the black ink on his skin.

She hadn't thought about it much since that first night, but it still intrigued her. It didn't surprise her that the young man from that second-story library had a tattoo. Yet, no matter how scorching the temperatures, he always seemed careful to keep his sleeves cuffed just below his elbows. Surely he wasn't embarrassed by it. But that just further begged the question.

Before she could overthink it, she reached over and tugged at his sleeve. It was his fault for bringing out this somewhat mischievous side of her.

She snorted at the revealed ink on his skin, the black outline of a skull and crossed swords staring up at her. "No fucking way."

He matched her amusement with an unbothered laugh of his own. "The ink doesn't lie."

"No wonder you don't flash it around. How drunk were you?"

"Sober as a judge, swear to God."

"Mmhmm. Did you do this before or after your crush on Sparrow when he stole the _Interceptor_?"

"Before." He continued over her scoffing noise. "Oh, come on – you can't tell me there's not something to admire about the life. That you haven't, at least once, thought about just leaving it all behind. Shedding your name and becoming someone else. Making your own calls, living by your own rules instead of someone else's."

She fixed him with a raised brow. "Why would I? I have everything I want."

"Really? Everything?"

She didn't back down from his searching stare, but…. What was he hoping for her to say? Everything but him? A knot clenched in her chest but she refused to let it show. The rousing chorus sung by the crew on the deck below drifted up between them in the silence.

"Well..," she said at length, "everything except a yellow submarine." The corner of her mouth lifted in a small smile, trying to recapture the light mood as she joined the chorus, swaying with the beat, " _we all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine."_

He smirked at her, eyes heavy with shrewd resignation. The light played handsomely off his face and she knew he wasn't satisfied with her diversion, but it wasn't a question she wanted to answer. Not with her interest in James nagging in the back of her head. And fortunately Theodore didn't press her.

She leaned over, still swaying with the song, nudging into his arm. He chuckled softly as her smirk coaxed him to sway with her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, moving with her as they sang, content enough for now.

" _We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine."_

The memory of that night probably shouldn't make her smile so much. But only in private moments. Only when she let herself devote brainpower to the conflict between her lingering attraction to Theodore and the bothersome interest in James. But now was not such a time.

She looked back to her laptop, proofreading the email again.

 _Kraken – If you wish to keep your heart safely locked away, then please refer to the attached. I will not hesitate to act on this information and see you both hunted to the world's end. Make no mistake – we found you once. Her, too. And we will again if you do not comply. You have 12 hours to acknowledge._

It had taken the company spies a little while, but that could be forgiven. The zip file that landed in her inbox yesterday had more than proven its weight in gold. She couldn't hold back the pleased smirk as she attached it to the email and hit send.

That should do it. Brevity was the soul of wit, after all. Even when threatening a man and his wife's life. But needs must.

She opened her next unread email, forwarded by her father. No doubt he had his secretary trolling the media sites for all references to her name.

 _Cutlena - for your sake, none of this better be true._

 **DISAPPEARING JAMAICAN LOVE TRIANGLE**

 **Sadly, all has gone quiet in Cutlena Beckett's developing social scene. It's been over three months since Beckett was spotted out on the town with either of her rumored paramours.**

 **Official word from the Colonial Office has Commodore James Norrington and his second in command, Lt. Theodore Groves, out on a highly classified assignment. Sources confirm that it is not unusual for the commodore and lieutenant to ship out for extended periods of time, but the conjoined absence of Ms. Beckett lends credence to speculation.**

 **Have the three eloped to quieter waters away from prying eyes to pursue more romantic enterprises? Or has the Governor sent them off on a top-secret mission against the pirates? What do readers think? Sound off in the poll below to weigh in on the mysterious disappearance! And stay tuned for developments – when and where will the lovers surface, and who will Beckett choose!**

She groaned at the disgusting drivel. Were they really so desperate for new stories? Sure, it wasn't convenient for them to notice her absence, but nothing linked them to their current venture. She deleted the email, not bothering to dignify it with a response, as another incoming email pinged her inbox.

Hm, that was almost a record. Then again, it wasn't a hard decision for Jones to make.

 _Acknowledged. Will continue pursuit as originally instructed. Evil bitch. – Kraken_

She chuckled softly. Jones' spirit had always been something to admire, even if the face of defeat. But with that business concluded, the rest of the night was hers. Perhaps it was time to go ashore, take in the live music scene at a bar she had researched.

Closing the door to her cabin, she took the stairs down to the quarterdeck, taking in the harbor night air. A smile threatened as she neared the gangplank, easily spotting Norrington with a clipboard in hand. Two other crewmen milled further behind him, a loud laugh rising up on the otherwise silent deck.

She paused her walk on approach to the tall man. "I thought you'd be ashore."

Norrington looked up from under his mussed hair. As much as his clean-coiffed look flattered him, it held nothing on his bedhead look. "No, I took quarterdeck watch to allow the whole crew a night off. They've earned it."

"I'd say so. The heat these last few days has been so oppressive. But on the whole, I have to admit that I'm impressed. You and Groves did well with crew selection and training. And as for you, you're taking all this better in stride than I had originally thought."

"Yes," he quipped dryly, "I'm just full of surprises."

Her lips pulled to an unbidden smile. He wasn't entirely wrong. Without the full staunch of his naval uniform, James had a nice, dry sense of humor. It always reminded her of their conversation on Christmas night and now always brought a nagging, fond burst of warmth in her chest.

He nodded over his shoulder at the two crewmen down the deck as he continued. "Though, some of the men seem to be enjoying themselves a little too much."

She huffed, amused at the scene – one man rolling around in a wheelchair, feet in the air as he tried to balance on the wheels, while the other sailor smoked idly, laughing. She looked back to James, at the annoyed crease to his brow.

"Simmons, if you please." His voice held none of its usual commanding edge, more that of an irritated parent. The crewman called out a casual apology and dropped his feet back to the deck.

James turned back to her, cocking a wry brow. "Are you sure a little flogging isn't in order?"

Her lips lifted in a teasing smile as she adjusted her stance without thought, pitching her body forward. "I already gave you permission to return to the punishing ways of ye olde days."

"Well, we are - supposedly - thinking like pirates. And without naval discipline – how else does a captain keep his crew in line?" He sighed, a heavy, put-upon sound.

She couldn't help a soft chuckle at his casual dramatics. "Why, promises of plunder, matey. Gold, women, booze. Don't you know anything about pirates?"

She shifted her feet again, her balance strangely...wait a minute…this…. Something was happening.

The ship's deck continued to slope away from her feet, the world tilting on its axis as the ship rolled. The ship's list grew worse, falling heavily towards the portside. She struggled to keep her feet, pitching her body against the slant of the listing ship. Simmons' cry sounded out as the wheelchair slid across the deck and he made a daring leap out before it crashed into the railing.

She cried out, startled, as the slope of the deck became too steep for her footing. It caught James, too, and they both stumbled into the railing, gripping onto anything they could find for balance.

What the fuck was happening? This roll was well beyond the measured 20+ degrees that they experienced during the high seas. And yet, the ship still rolled. God, were they really going to capsize here in the harbor?

She looked around wide eyed, uncertain, trying to find her bearings. James was already trying to move down along the deck, gripping the railing and calling out to the crewman on deck.

"Simmons! Rafferty! Get below – sound the ship and report!" He turned and crawled his way back towards her as the ship finally came to a rest at the severe angle.

She stared at him wide-eyed as he tore open a compartment. "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know for sure yet. But something has upset our balance. Now, we just need to fix it." He looped the rope into a wide circle, tying off the end with a quick knot to form a crude lasso. It look him a few tries, but he hooked it around a light fixture, testing the hold. He started to pull himself up the sloped deck, towards the bulkhead door.

She grabbed the end of the rope, making ready to follow him.

He reached the bulkhead door, throwing it open and climbing up inside, standing on the bulkhead. It was indeed a surreal sight to see James standing on the bulkhead like it was the floor instead of a wall.

She pulled herself after him, working against the steep slope. She huffed out fast breaths of exertion as she finally reached up, pulling herself up through the door and resting against the bulkhead. "Guess I've been lax of my arm days."

"Can't quit on me now." He reached out to unhook the rope. "No telling how many more decks we'll need to scour to solve this."

She drew another deep, collecting breath before standing up, feet firmly against the bulkhead, a bracing hand against the deck. "By all means, commodore – after you."

It took the better part of two hours to return the ship to rights. Who knew that something so simple as standing on a pipe could cause enough damage to trigger the automatic emergency dump of the starboard bilge tanks? With the sudden loss of weight, the ship listed to port, finally leveling out at a steep 45-degree angle.

At least, the only damage had been to the gangway connection as it ripped off the rolling ship, stranding the crew on shore. Well, that and the bent pipe that the crewman had been standing on.

It became Theodore's favorite story of the whole voyage. And James' lips pursed with infuriated annoyance during each retelling.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack had no love for being on land. Well, except that one time Tia convinced him that he wore the Black Spot. Laughed her ass off, she had, when she learned that Jack spent almost two months ashore, terrified to even touch a dinghy without a jar of dirt in hand.

Or, unless the land in question was Tortuga. Ah, but the delights that be there for a man. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a thing for Scarlet. No matter how many times she slapped him around. He still wasn't quite sure what he'd done to deserve it every time he visited. Just another delightful, if marginally unpleasant, mystery of a beautiful woman.

But sadly, Fig Tree was no Tortuga. Sure, the _Pearl_ could reprovision here- only on the needs, savy - and the crew could find some space for rum and women. But it just weren't Jack's flavor.

Far too...civilized.

He glared around the mostly empty decks. A sailor loafed about the forecastle, belching occasionally. It made Jack very much doubt that the man was actually doing as tasked, but he wasn't in a yelling mood.

His lady love, his freedom, the _Pearl,_ needed looking after instead.

The heavy rumbling of cart wheels sounded up the large gangplank.

"Captain! Oh, Captain Sparrow!" A thick, lazy, vaguely French accent accompanied the words, slurred with a bellowing laugh.

Jack had always found Mr. Meeks to be a...well, an acquired taste. "Ahoy, Mr. Meeks."

The man - average build, receding hairline, wearing far too much florals and fringe - paused on the gangplank, swatting at the laborers pushing the cart to stop, making a dramatic show. "Permission to board your fine vessel, captain? I have everything that your heart - and crew - could desire for another, successful voyage."

The man knew just how to flatter ol' Jack. "Aye, a'course. Sooner we conduct our business, and see your business squared in me stores, the sooner we can set topsails, savy?"

Meeks brushed the side of his nose with a knowing smirk. "Savy, monsieur captain. Always savy." He gestured wildly to his laborers and the cart continued to heave onto the deck. Not that there were much room for it, really. But Meeks and his men managed it every time that the _Pearl_ stopped in St. Kitts.

But never at Basseterre, mind. Too many noose-happy navy types and port authority inspectors for Jack's comfort. But Fig Tree had a deep coastline and no such scruples. Jack could easily get behind no such scruples.

Meeks continued to prattle on, brandishing his clipboard about. "Oh, captain - all these weather reports. Another hurricane, blah blah. Well, we've rebuilt before and we will again. I must say, your lady, ze _Pearl_ , it still quite handsome, n'est ce pas?"

"Aye, mate. That she is."

"Well, I'm thrilled that she has you. And that you have me! Truly matches made in heaven." Meeks held out the clipboard with the printed manifest. "This is everything that came in the request. I trust it is to your satisfaction?"

As much as Jack hated being handed anything that wasn't a bottle of rum or something he could hock for high profit, he took the clipboard, scanning over the list. At first, seeing to the task of restocking the ship all by his onesie had proved quite dull, but Gibbs lost his privileges after being hoodwinked into accepting a hold full of nothing but onions.

And, honestly, it was still a dull task. But, honestly, there was no one else Jack trusted. The long month of permanent onion breath still haunted him and made him full-body shudder on occasion.

He reached for the pen stuck in the top of the clipboard, scrawling out a nonsensical signature. "We have an accord, Mr. Meeks."

"Brava! Magnifique, merci captain." Meeks accepted the clipboard back with a half-bow. "We won't be but a jiffy to unload."

Jack hummed, still finding the concept of waiting a jiffy tug at his restlessness. Distant music rose up from the shore, accompanied by the occasional loud holler.

Meeks' soft chuckle drew his sidelong glance. "Please, captain. Do not let me keep you from the party. Queen Sheeba's on stage tonight, so I hear."

"Not a chance, mate." Jack flashed a smile, just enough to glint with gold. "Tell me, what news out of Basseterre."

"Eh, ze bastards," Meeks sneered, disgusted as he glanced over to check his men conveying and loading goods. "They've raised the price of toilet paper on me. It's toilet paper, for fuck's sake! It ain't made of fucking gold. But they say there's a cotton shortage, so fuck 'em. And those EITC bastards - cordoned off a third of the port, just waiting on the maybe arrival of their newest, fanciest, fartiest ship, ze _Icarus_."

Jack cocked a wry brow. "Why, ye don't say."

"Aw, ze _Icarus_ \- always laden with the finest silks or jewels. Or wine, I even heard. Every port she puts in, always gets special treatment, or so the porthands grumble. One'd think after the _Persephone,_ that those EITC fucks would have learned their lesson, but I suppose it's good news for you, oui!"

"Of course, anything's possible. I'll keep me eye out."

Meeks rolled with laughter, his eyes bright even in the low light. "I know you will, captain! I know you will!"

* * *

"We'll put into Providenciales in two days' time." Groves recounted. "Powell will see the restocking of medical supplies, and Simmons will assist the deck loading operations. Any further questions?"

Silence fell around the wardroom.

Norrington looked around, nodding in acknowledgement. "Very well. Dismissed."

The mix of petty officers rose from the table, a general din of conversation filling the warm room in the meeting's aftermath.

She glanced up at Norrington as he rose. "You should be pleased. The company and the Crown are both still supportive of this venture."

"I am. Please do reassure them of my gratitude."

"I already have. But, conversely, this won't last forever."

"I certainly hope not." They shared a smile that spoke to all that they had left unspoken. The knowledge that once this voyage ended, it would either spell the continuation or termination of his command. The knowledge that if this didn't work…well. Cutlena Beckett didn't fail.

" _Captain and first mate to the bridge_." The ship-wide PA system chimed. " _Captain and first mate to the bridge._ "

Norrington cut a sharp glance to his officers as he moved for the door. "All hands to stations. Stand ready."

Of course, she followed them.

Activity buzzed around the radar station, the lead on duty and another sailor peering down at the blips on the screen.

Groves joined them, tugging at the shirt collar sticking to his skin in the humidity. "What do we have?"

"Contact – coming up on our stern. One point on the starboard quarter. Three klicks and closing fast."

Groves looked over at Norrington, reading the assent in the commodore's cool gaze. "Engines ahead full. Let's give her a chase."

She frowned. "Ahead full? If we're being pursued, we want them to catch us."

Norrington shook his head swiftly. "If we make it too easy, we'll raise their suspicions before they even get in range."

She sighed, still doubtful. If this was indeed a pirate - or hell, Sparrow himself - and they let him slip away, there would be hell to pay. She crossed her arms about her chest, doing nothing to hide her questioning disapproval. Steady vibrations whirred up through the floor as the _Icarurs'_ engines roared to life beneath her feet.

Norrington looked up to the helmsman. "Adjust course. North-northwest." He walked over to the comms station, reaching to open the ship-wide channel. "All hands, man battle stations and prepare for enemy fire. Stand ready to reveal on my mark." He released the receiver, glancing back to the radar station. "Report on position?"

"Still closing. One klick out now."

Groves reached for the pair of binoculars hanging from his chair and stepped out on the walkway into the bright afternoon sun.

Her heart started to pound, recalling the battle with Togg. Why wasn't the pirate ship shooting at them? Why had a warning shot not even crossed their bow? Norrington hadn't even let the _Providence_ get this close without firing a warning shot.

"She's flying the jolly roger." Groves stepped inside. "There's two men arming the deck mounted machine-gun. More are making the boats ready."

Norrington nodded, looking over at her. "You wanted a pirate attack. Looks like you're going to get it."

A spray of gunfire, bullets pinging off the metal hull and bridge, pelted the ship.

She jumped instinctively at the sound. "What happened to firing a warning shot across the bow?"

"I think that was meant to be the warning shot." Norrington turned to the helmsman. "Reduce speed, a quarter-full. Better to let them think they scared us."

With wide eyes, she watched the pirate ship grow larger out the bridge windows. It was almost right on top of them now, slowing her approach in a wake of white waves. It looked comparable in size to the _Icarus_ , but far smaller than the _Providence_ or even Togg's ship had been. The hull was a nondescript gray, not the black color from reports about the _Black Pearl_. Disappointment shot through her.

Norrington looked hungry enough, though. It was still an opportunity to take down a pirate, after all.

He raised the radio receiver again. "I want shots placed to her communications array and along the waterline. On my mark."

All they could do now was wait. Another volley of machine gun fire pinged off the hull and bulkheads as the ship came up on their starboard beam.

A bullhorn squawked to life. " _Merchant Vessel_ Icarus! _Prepare to be boarded_!"

"Mark."

The bridge stayed as quiet as it had before the order. In fact, the delay was strange – the relative calm on the bridge when surely the crew was scrambling to throw open the portholes, run out the guns and sight their shots.

Five shots rang out in quick succession, sending up thick sprays of water and bright, fiery plumes. At least three shots contacted at the water line, rocking the pirate ship violently with the explosive force and creating a pronounced list as water poured in. Another shot hit the deck, a black cloud of smoke billowing up into the clear sky. Pirates scurried on the decks, unprepared and shocked by the surprise, savage assault. The last shot took out the machine gun on the forward bow.

She swallowed, taking in the attack with wide eyes. What kind of guns had Norrington specified for the _Icarus_ again? To say nothing of the topnotch men in the crew who so ruthlessly executed the commodore's commands. If this was what they had to look forward to with more pirate attacks, then, let them come.

Justice could finally be served in the Caribbean.

The rest fell into place rather quickly. Boats lowered from both ships as the pirate ship took on water, rolling hard to port, dangerously close to capsizing. Groves oversaw the transporting of survivors – prisoners – aboard the _Icarus_ and to their accommodations in the spacious brig built into a former cargo hold.

The captain – last to leave his doomed ship, last to board the _Icarus_ – stared in constant defiance as she and Norrington approached. She couldn't deny the satisfaction in the victory. The commodore and his men had met all expectations.

The pirate captain looked unremarkably average, dressed in black jeans and a gray t-shirt. Only the handcuffs stood out. She'd honestly expected more. He did have an exotic look about him, though, tanned skin with ebony hair. Spanish, perhaps?

Groves stood alongside him, speaking in low, serious tones. "…will be held as a prisoner of His Majesty's government until your arraignment."

"His Majesty's government? Who the fuck does your captain think he is?" The pirate captain's voice was deep with heavy Latin accents as he shook his cuffed hands, flipping dark hair out of his dark eyes. "He has no right -"

Norrington cut him swiftly off. "No right to continue letting you roam free on the high seas."

The pirate's dark eyes cut to the commodore with a scathing glare. "Another pompous English asshole. You know, it's not called the English Main."

Norrington shrugged his brows with feigned amusement, looking to Groves. "Clever. I'll have to remember that one."

The other man railed against his handcuffs. "You've no authority to hold me, bastardo!"

Groves chuckled softly. "You really don't know who he is do you?"

"No. And I don't care to know him."

"Very well. I'm not inclined to tell you my name anyway." Norrington looked to the tablet in his hand, wholly unconcerned as he started scrolling through photographs and criminal records. Every so often he glanced back up at the captain and back down to the tablet.

Groves looked between them. "Will you give your name this time?"

The pirate turned his stony gaze on Groves, otherwise unmoving.

Norrington scrolled through another record, glancing back up. "It's no matter, really. We'll have it one way or another. But I'd lay good money that you're Javier Mendoza." He nodded to Groves with the flash of a gin. "Take him below, lieutenant."

"Of course, commodore."

The pirate fixed his glare on Norrington, top lip curling in a snarl. "Commodore? Commodore James fucking Norrington?"

"I can't help it if you don't recognize me."

"You motherfucker! You have lost all honor! All valor of a fair fight! You - you killed Miguel! And lost my ship!" Groves started to pull him away, despite his struggles. "I hope you get what's coming to you! At the end of my knife one day! Unless someone else has the pleasure of killing you first!"

Norrington turned away from the man's taunts, brushing by her without sparing a glance and heading back towards the bridge. She stared after him, still hearing the pirate's echoes. How many death threats had Norrington received over the years? Obviously enough that if they did bother him, he certainly didn't let it show.

Something on that thought bothered her.

* * *

Despite the pirate captain's harsh words, the swift victory had indeed been pleasing. It proved even more pleasing to turn the criminals over to the garrison upon arrival at Providenciales. Discreetly, of course.

But that's what the empty shipping containers were for. It had been easy enough to divide the crew among the deck-level containers, and carefully transport them to the dock. A garrison detachment would be along in a few hours, well past sunset, to release and transport them.

She had to give James credit. He played the whole affair quite masterfully. Totally and fully in command. She couldn't deny the thrill of arousal that raced through her in recalling him, so confident and strong on the bridge. It was an increasingly distracting line of thinking – wondering at having him in an intimate setting. Would the touch of his hands be as sure as the commands on his voice?

Her lips curled to an amused, self-satisfied smile as she leaned forward, bracing her forearms against the railing. The view from their cove of choice for the night offered clear, starry skies. Ship lights winked on the horizon, inviting all manner of idle speculation. Was one of those ships their man? The infamous Sparrow? Would they be able to take him as swiftly as they took Mendoza?

"You know, it's too bad we had to leave Providenciales so soon."

She turned at the sound of Theodore' voice, looking over her shoulder with a small smile. "Is that so?"

"Mm, quite." He walked alongside her, mimicking her lean on the railing, glancing out over the water. His arm just brushed hers, the heat from his skin noticeable in the pleasant evening air. "It's always good for morale to celebrate a victory."

"True. The crew is to be congratulated for their performance. That all timed out rather perfectly." She turned with a proud grin. "I couldn't be more pleased with the success."

He met her gaze in the low light. "You're to be congratulated as well, you know. This whole venture was your brainchild. Your superiors better give credit where credit is due."

"It'll take more than one pirate ship for the Crown and company to be satisfied. But this is a bloody good start."

"It's still worth celebrating. In fact," his lips pulled to a playful smile, "if we were back in Providenciales, I'd take you out someplace – music, dancing, drinks."

"And what makes you think I'd say yes?"

A low note burned in his voice. "You turned me down that first night…but I remain hopeful."

The smoldering heat from her earlier thoughts surged at the implication as her gaze drifted idly to his lips. "That's what makes you sure I'd say yes?"

"Would you really say no? We've been trapped on this ship together and you're not pent up? To say nothing about how much I fucking want you."

The ship's lights caught mesmerizingly in his brown eyes. He stood so close and her body thrummed with arousal, feeling his breath gust her skin. How had she forgotten how handsome and utterly disarming he was?

His lips covered hers before she knew it. He kissed like a tease, like savoring something long forgotten. It was tentative, so full of promise and anticipation. She exhaled with a moan, her mouth falling open, and it was all the further invitation he needed. The kiss deepened as she tilted her head, the warm, velvety slide of his tongue mimicking so many other actions that she hungered for.

Her hand curled around his arm to drag him closer and he moved forward, angling his stance to slot a thigh between hers. Another moan slid from her mouth at the friction as her hips rolled against him. He answered in kind, holding her tight through a feverish kiss with a voracious want. Desperation. A rushing recklessness. But where was the control? The commanding authority?

She broke from his lips with a gasp as the thought hit her. It wasn't really Theodore she wanted pressed against her from chest to groin right now. Fuck, but she wanted James Norrington to wrap his tongue around hers, to fight her for submission. And maybe she'd give it to him - yield and just let him devour her with all the surety he possessed. Then again, wouldn't it be equally delicious to have him at her mercy until she shattered everything calm and collected about him?

"I'm sorry, Theodore. But no...it's. It's just not." She shook her head, meeting his eyes with the plain realization. "I can't."

His brow furrowed in surprised confusion as he stared back at her, trying to discern the truth from her eyes. "I...I don't understand. But I'd like to understand."

A blush started to grow on her cheeks as she bit her lip that still tingled from his touch. "I'm afraid there's no gentle way to say it."

He quirked a wry brow. "I'm a big boy. I think I can take it."

"Well," she sighed, "you're just not the one I want. Maybe you were when I first got here, but...that's changed now."

"Well, if it's not me anymore, then obviously it must be someone else."

She stared back, careful to keep her face neutral. She'd never voiced anything aloud to others or herself over her...interest in James, and she wasn't about to start now. But something must give her away because Theodore started to chuckle, low and slow. Like it couldn't be more obvious to him.

He shook his head, knowingly. "He is impressive, even I'll give him that."

"No."

"No, no - if he weren't my ranking male officer, I might just be interested myself."

"It's nothing like that."

"Mmm, sure. And yet you won't go to bed with me because…."

"Because I'd just be using you as filler." She snorted. "Literally. And you deserve better than that."

"Do I?" He paused, gaze dragging from her eyes down to her lips. "What if I accept your disclaimer?"

She cocked a brow, tilting her head to glare incredulously at him. "You're that desperate to get laid?"

He chuckled, leaning forward to nuzzle against her neck. Whatever cologne he wore did smell so very tempting. What would it taste like on his skin? Her hand curled around his arm as his lips suckled her earlobe.

"So long as you don't call me James." He chuckled throatily, the sound a rich current that rushed straight to her core.

"Lt. Groves." The commodore's cold voice washed over them, slamming through the fog of desire.

She bit her lip, frustrated as Theodore disentangled from her. A sideways glance confirmed the commodore's rigid form, his face tight with flinty displeasure.

Theodore straightened his shoulders, not quite standing at attention. "Sir."

Norrington cut him with a hard look. "We may not be in uniform, Lt. Groves, but I expected far better from you. Even on this sham of a ship."

"Yes, sir."

"Hit your rack."

"Yes, sir." He snapped off a quick salute, still holding his shoulders high as he walked away without a backwards glance.

She licked her lips, still tasting hints of Theodore as his retreating footsteps faded. "You needn't be hard on him. It takes two, you know. And his attentions weren't unwelcome."

"Is that why my name was brought into it?"

She shrugged, unsurprised that he had heard. "What can I say? Familiarity breeds attraction? Proximity promise, and temptation maddening."

He cocked his head, eyes narrowing shrewdly as he took a step forward, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Why Miss Beckett. If I'm not mistaken, have you just compromised your entire purpose here? Quite a conflict of interest when emotional entanglements and fraternization come into play."

Her jaw tensed. "Of the two of us, my word and reputation are not the ones in question. So play that card at your own peril."

He held her gaze, unflinching, as the line of his shoulders stiffened.

She couldn't resist a teasing smirk. If she couldn't seek release of her pent-up frustration with Theodore, then why not share the love? "I will admit, though – it's delicious to imagine you on your knees."

"On my knees?" He quickly crowded in closer, drawing her gaze up. Her breath caught at the deep husk in his voice, the dark of his pupils swallowing the green irises. "My dear Cutlena, you don't really know me at all, do you?"

Her audible gasp didn't go unnoticed by either of them. It pulled the most wicked smirk to his lips that she yearned to snog off his face.

He took a step back, tipping his head. "Goodnight, Cutlena."

The breath punched out of her as she watched him go, her body burning maddeningly with need.

The touch of her fingers barley quenched it.

She cursed the cabin ceiling.

* * *

Thunder rumbled the bridge windows, but no rain fell. The latest weather report indicated that this storm was little more than a passing cloud and not related to the tropical storm that tracked north of them. She sipped her tea, continuing to listen to Theodore and the navigator over the peals of thunder.

"Our present position off Dominica puts us in good standing to keep to the leeward sides of Guadeloupe, Montserrat, St. Kitts. We'll still encounter the churn between islands, but that's not to be avoided."

Theodore sighed, shaking his head. "That will help some. The shipping lanes are all so disrupted from that tropical storm. St. Kitts' watch reported unusually high volumes of traffic, so we'll have to be careful. How many more days will that add before we arrive in San Juan?"

"One day."

"One day." Theodore moved over to the communications console, opening a channel. "Engineering – report on fuel reserves."

The disembodied response came over the radio, crisp and efficient. " _Yes, sir. A moment_." Theodore's finger tapped against the receiver, an impatient gesture as thunder rolled outside. " _Sir – at full open, we have 30 hours run time of fuel_."

"Copy that. Bridge out." He nestled the receiver back in the cradle before walking back over to the nav console. "With these seas, we won't be lucky enough to run full open."

The navigator already punched numbers into his calculator. "At full open, we're 27 hours run time from San Juan. At half-open, we're 43 hours run time."

Theodore's lips pulled to a concerned frown, his brow furrowing. "So optimally, running at full open. Else we might very well be paddling in."

"Captain on the bridge!" The call rose up and everyone properly stood as Norrington swept in.

Even after all these months, the sight of him in the merchant captain's uniform was amusing. So unrefined in its appointments – case in point with the flashy epaulettes – and so unlike his crisp naval uniform.

He stopped at the nav console, looking to Theodore. "Status report?"

Her gaze drifted to the window as Theodore recounted their current position, the weather, the fuel situation. All the official business that she'd been hearing all morning. A peal of thunder rattled the nearest window, drawing her attention. Was the seaman sure the storm wasn't headed this direction?

"…run ahead, half-full. If these seas hold, then we'll just have to consider putting in at Basseterre for fuel before San Juan. I'm sure the company won't mind a delayed delivery of non-existent goods. Right, Miss Beckett?"

She turned back at Norrington's words, lips pulling to a clipped smile. "Non-existent or not, there are always schedules, commodore. But if the safety of the ship and crew demand a delay, then I will discuss with our port authority."

"Very well. Weigh anchor, have engineering stand by. Let's put this storm behind us and skirt the one in front of us."

Theodore nodded, acknowledging the order before calling out more commands to spur the bridge crew into action.

She sipped at her tea, swiveling in her chair. It was always more fun to watch other people scurry around.

A radio channel buzzed. " _Anchor watch reporting – ship off the starboard bow, rounding the island! No visible colors at this distance, but she has the_ Flying Dutchman's _masthead."_

Her breath caught. The _Flying Dutchman_? Could it really be Davy Jones ahead?

Theodore reached for the receiver. "Come again, anchor watch? You say the _Flying Dutchman_?"

" _Yes, sir! Ship with the distinctive demon maw, gaping sailfish bow."_

Norrington reached for the nearest binoculars, stepping up to the front window of the bridge, adjusting the magnification. She followed, pushing up from her seat to move closer to the window, staring at the dark figure of the ship just clearing the far point of the island. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, waiting on the commodore's verdict.

Theodore's voice sounded over their shoulders. "Did we just get lucky, sir?"

Norrington lowered the binoculars, the corner of his lips curved with excitement. "I should say so. Ahead full – do not let her get away. All hands to stations."

Her brow furrowed. They couldn't attack Jones. That would jeopardize everything the man was doing to find Sparrow. She turned to Norrington with a sharp, commanding look. "This is not your battlecruiser."

He cast her a fleeting, dismissive look. "We are well equipped for a frontal assault."

"Except that we are a merchant vessel and have no business approaching a known pirate ship."

"Our mission is to eradicate piracy. I cannot in good conscience turn away when one is so readily in our sights."

She stepped closer to him with all the power of intimidation she possessed. "Isn't that the same attitude that cost you the _Dauntless_?"

The barb was cruel, but it had to be said. The man needed a reminder of the high price his blind recklessness had previously carried.

He glared back at her, his jaw tense, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. "Lt. Groves, you have your orders. Ahead full."

She held his gaze in the face of his defiant challenge. Well, if this was the way he wanted to play it – then she had no choice.

She turned from him without a word, returning to her laptop and throwing open her email. The words flew from her fingers, heedless of the orders and men making battle preparations around her.

 _Kraken - Ahead full and outrun the ship off your port bow. Do not engage. Failure to immediately comply will terminate the deal._

She punched the send button, hoping she wasn't too late. The _Icarus_ ' engines picked up beneath her feet, and Theodore spoke in the radio in low, hard tones. Ordering men to their stations. Confirming operational statuses.

" _Bridge! She's pulling away._ " The anchor watch came across the radio. " _Repeat – the_ Dutchman _has turned quarter stern and pulling away."_

Theodore frowned. "Why wouldn't she attack?"

Norrington ignored him. "Continue pursuit."

The first officer stepped over. "Sir, I know you're aware, but our fuel reserves are low. We do not have sufficient supply to give a sustained chase and reach Basseterre."

"Distance now six klicks and increasing." The radar operator's voice dropped like the final nail in a coffin.

A look of defeat just managed to hide the telltale signs of rage on Norrington's face. She couldn't help but smile, triumphant in satisfaction. Let that be a lesson to him if he tried to countermand her again. Had he still not learned that she did everything for a reason?

His piercing gaze landed on hers and her smirk sharpened. The man could be angry all he liked, but he'd have no choice now but to call off the ill-advised chase.

He took a breath, collecting himself. "Remove yourself from my bridge, Ms. Beckett. Or I will have you removed."

Indignant surprise contorted her face. "How dare you. This is my ship."

"And at sea, the captain is the law." He leveraged all of his own considerable, intimidating authority. Not that she found it intimidating, but surely it made junior officers wither. "Leave my bridge. Now."

She drew a breath to speak, but thought better of it, closing her mouth to a tight line. The rest of the bridge had fallen dead quiet, watching the intense exchange. She broke from the commodore's stare, glancing idly about.

Slowly, the corner of her lips lifted. She may have just won the war, but she'd let him win this battle. Turning for her station, she snapped up her laptop and left the bridge.

Her quarters were preferable to the bustling bridge, anyway. Especially for rewriting this report. Detailing his single-minded obsession with hunting Jones even in the face of onboard fuel scarcity. That surely wouldn't sit well with the admiralty back in London. But at least a pattern had emerged. Who knew his commitment to his duty ran beyond professional obligation into obsession. But isn't that what also made him such an effective commander for someone so young?

A heavy knock on the door jarred her focus. How long had she been writing? She glared up at the door, knowing it could only be one man.

She leaned back in her chair. "Not right now."

"If you do not grant permission, then I will use my keys." Norrington's voice was just as cold and sharp with coiled anger as it had been on the bridge.

She sighed, steeling herself. "It's unlocked."

His movements were stiff as the door opened and he walked into the dim, warm light of her cabin.

He fixed her with a hard, calculating stare. "Are you in league with Jones? It's no coincidence that you type at your laptop, and the _Dutchman_ retreats from a non-threatening vessel minutes later."

She sat up straighter, not seeing a reason to lie. She knew that her actions on the bridge revealed everything about her subterfuge. "Contingency plans were in place before I even landed on the Port Royal tarmac."

"So I never even stood a fucking chance?"

She started on his use of the swear word. She didn't think that he had it in him, even though he was a navy man. Using such a common word seemed beneath him, but damn, there was something about it. She smirked, unable to help the tease. "If you didn't, then why are we out here?"

He shook his head, anger - and was that hurt? - coloring his gaze. "What else aren't you telling me?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"What leverage do you have on Jones?"

"Now why would I -"

"Please, Cutlena. Do you respect me so little?"

Well, that certainly wasn't true. He had proven his competence, intelligence and commitment many times over. "I have the utmost respect for you, James. Maybe not when you're throwing me off your bridge, however."

"I will remove anyone that I suspect of treachery."

"Treachery, hmm? Considering I was never sent here to be on your side, it's hardly a betrayal."

He forced a hard swallow, exhaling stiffly. "Jones. How are you using him?

She pushed up from her chair. "I have his heart, so to speak."

"How so?"

"One of our spies landed on his ship last year, and Jones' cabin was most revealing. He had a wife, hidden away in some dark corner of San Dominique. We found her and revealed ourselves to Jones. She will swing as an accessory to his crimes if he does not support the company."

He looked back at her with cold disgust. "You have his heart. And you don't have one. I knew you were cruel, but this…? And to think, I was foolishly considering that maybe..once this was over…."

His words punched through her, taken by surprise. He'd been quite distant since discovering her that night with Theodore, and the loss of their budding camaraderie stung more than she wanted to admit. Part of her yearned to speak out - to correct him - to reassure him.

But that line of thinking was costly. She shook her head, sighing in determined resignation as she leveled him with an honest look. "I don't fail, James. I can't and I won't. Whatever it takes." She shook her head again, watching a heavy emotion that she didn't want to name settle in his green eyes. "So, please don't expect an apology."

Silence fell as their gazes held. Her blood heated the longer she looked at him, increasingly torn whether to ask him to leave or just end the misery and snog him senseless.

At length, he sighed a weighty, final sound. "I know. But that's who I am, so I will." He took a step back. "I'm sorry, Cutlena." His footfalls thundered in her ears, and the urge to call out to him gnawed at her. But she stayed still, staring after him as the door closed firmly in his wake.


	8. Chapter 8

She hadn't spoken with James since that day. Well, not outside of the bridge or wardroom meetings, anyway. The silence between them off-hours now only further emphasized the loss of their truce or tentative friendship or whatever had brought them close on Christmas evening. She didn't bother trying to define it further. She couldn't linger on the nagging attraction and gnawing interest, so giving it a name was a moot point. She had a job to do. It was just that simple.

Friends were a luxury she couldn't afford and James in no way qualified as a discretionary lover. So, there was nothing for it.

She glanced over at him from where she sat on the bridge. He paid her no mind as he continued making notations in the logbook. The sunlight caught in his messy hair, highlighting the silver streaks set in amongst the dark strands. If he were to glance up, it would catch in his green eyes, too. His broad shoulders sat in a tense line as he scribbled, his posture conveying all confidant authority as he occupied the captain's chair.

Someday, this mess would all be sorted out. The sooner, the better really. For the sooner she could put James Norrington behind her, the sooner life would return to normal. Back to West Africa. Back to managing the most successful trade routes for the good of the company, the Crown, and the Empire.

"Contact." Jenkins called out, drawing her attention. "Three points abaft the port beam. Four klicks out. On a northerly course."

Norrington looked up with a nod. "Thank you, Jenkins. Simmons - to the viewport, if you please. Let's get eyes on her." The orders were relayed and a comms channel opened to Simmons' radio.

"Distance closing." Jenkins said. "Three klicks, coming fast."

Norrington's face tightened. "Simmons, report?"

 _"She's a heavily modified frigate. Looks like a…black hull. Difficult to spot."_

A shiver of anticipation raced down her spine. Was this…what it him? Sparrow, at last?

Norrington's eyes sparked. "What colors is she flying?"

 _"No colors raised, sir – no, wait._ " A tense silence fell over the radio. _"Black and white – a jolly roger, sir. And guns on the move!"_

Norrington threw open a ship-wide channel. "All hands to stations. Brace for impact and prepare to return fire." He muted the connection. "Helm! Come about – new bearing two points on the port bow. Swing our stern around."

Her heart started to race, adrenaline pumping. "Is it Sparr—"

A gun shell exploded off the port side, the ship rattling and rocking with the explosion.

Jenkins' voice could just be heard. "Not a direct hit."

Norrington shook his head, taking no comfort. "More will follow."

And he was right. Another shell exploded further aft, the floor of the bridge shuddering violently and the smell of smoke permeating through the open windows. A second followed close behind, and her hand darted out to brace against her station as she jolted forward on the impact.

"Martin, report?" Norrington called into his radio.

 _"Locked and loaded, si-"_

"Open fire!"

The _Icarus'_ guns roared to life, returning the volleys that seemed endless. Another jarring boom shook the bridge to its core, knocking a few men from their consoles and sending her staggering. God, how many more hits could they take?

"Commodore!" Theodore's voice cut over the din of the bridge as he swept in, coming over to Norrington's console. "Your orders?"

"Get down to engineering – fire up the auxiliary controls and secondary array. Sync to the bridge's live feed data. Open a channel once aux nav has our course and bearing locked."

"Yes, sir." Theodore nodded sharply, turning for the door, focused on his orders.

Her gaze followed him out, eyes wide as she took in the billowing smoke, the ship's position changing as it continued the turn. Her brow furrowed to realize the ship's bow was now pointed in towards the oncoming gunfire. It didn't make sense, did it? She couldn't believe it. Her ears rang with the sound of another explosion, gripping the edge of Norrington's console to stay on her feet.

"What are you doing?" She yelled over the fray. "How does turning into their shots possibly help us?!"

"I'm not going to –." Another shell exploded with bone-rattling force over Norrington's words and everyone on the bridge started shouting at once.

"Radio communications down, sir."

"Sir, I've lost navigation!"

"Helm responsive, but I've lost display."

"Primary comms array is offline, sir."

Norrington's face sharpened with a grimace. "Then, we'll just have to do things the old-fashioned way. Get Roberts and Mulligan working on repairs. Keep returning fire. Jenkins – fetch your compass and write out our last known bearing. Beckett." She started at his use of her name. What could she possibly do? "Find Groves in engineering, pass along our position. Report back with status of the secondary array."

"What?" She stared back, bewildered. Surely, there was someone else? "I don't –."

"Sir." Jenkins interrupted, handing off the slip with bearing and position coordinates noted.

"That's an order, Beckett. To engineering. Now." Norrington's voice was uncompromising, his gaze hard as flint. Everything within her wanted to flex her own commanding muscle back at him. Show that he had no ability to order her about. But as the ship shuddered from another blast, and more calls echoed about the bridge, she swallowed hard and reached out for the paper.

"I'll be back." She refused to deign and call him 'sir'. But she took the paper and turned for the door, the smell of smoke stronger as she emerged onto the hazy, sun-soaked passageway.

Devastation littered the open expanse of deck between the fore and aft sections of the ship's interior. Chunks of metal lay scattered, the occasional soft component still smoldering, water sprayed everywhere. She took to the stairs, taking in the scene with wide eyes. A shell exploded just off the port side, sending up a large burst of water. She gasped as it rained down on her, soaking through her clothes.

She shook the water from her eyes, sprinting across the deck, dodging the debris and wrenching open the submarine door. It slammed shut behind her and her face scrunched at the acrid smell of smoke, oil and fuel that filled the hallway. A hoarse cough rattled her lungs as she pushed forward, towards the end of the corridor and down the stairwell to engineering.

The smoke smell started to abate as she descended deeper into the ship, gripping the railing tight against the shockwaves of the _Icarus'_ pounding guns that, hopefully, were pounding the _Black Pearl_ in equal measure.

"Theodore!" She threw open the submarine door, quickly spotting him at work in a small booth, control panels flashing around him. She skirted around the equipment and the sailors, overhearing their calls and cries as they struggled to keep the engines and ship's systems online. The air was stale and heavy with various fumes as she gulped it down in quick, anxious breaths.

The next shell explosion rumbled through the ship with a deafening roar and a shattering quake.

"Theodore!" She wrenched the booth door open, drawing his concerned gaze.

"Cutlena? What –."

"The primary array is down." She cut him off, holding the paper out. "This is our last known position. Norrington wants to know the status of the secondary array."

"Just coming online. Undamaged, so far." A slightly more distant boom shook the ship. "I should be able to re-establish control from here. I'll radio up when control's transferred."

"How long?"

"Five minutes or less."

"Can…do we have five minutes?"

"Of course. Your _Icarus_ is made of stern stuff. The commodore knew what he was doing with all that armored plating." He did his best to flash as reassuring smile. "She'll see us through. But you need to go and report back. Now."

"Alright. Stay…stay safe." The words left her before she could stop them.

He flashed a shade of his trademark grin. "Always. You, too."

She nodded, trying to muster up a smile but knew how stilted it must look. With a turn, she closed the booth door behind her, the noise of the engine room a loud cacophony as shots pelted the ship and equipment went haywire.

The smoke smell from earlier grew stronger as she re-ascended the stairs. She threw open the submarine door, hacking at the poisoned air, unable to see down the corridor ahead for all the smoke. God, there must be a fire burning somewhere. She took a couple of steps forward, eyes burning and her throat seizing, gasping for hacking coughs. This wasn't going to work.

She retreated back, slamming the door shut behind her and breathing the relatively freer air. Her gaze swept wide over engineering, remembering that there was another staircase out that lead directly on deck. It was further aft, but the passageway did connect to the main deck back to the bridge.

With rushed steps, she worked her way through the flurry of activity, taking to the other staircase and moving up through the decks. She ran across the top landing, taking to the dial on the submarine door, feeling it shake as the ship rattled again. Did it seem that the enemy's fire was going less regular? Did there seem to be a longer break in between shell explosions? Or was she just getting used to it?

The lock finally gave with a sudden groan as the door swung open to reveal the smoky destruction.

Shipping containers lay strewn about the aft deck – all empty, thank god – disturbed from their neat rows by the explosion impacts. The pounding of the large guns echoed overhead and behind, brief reprieves undercut by the yelling of sailors who reloaded and adjusted position.

Every sense screamed on high alert, overloaded as she could do nothing but take it all in. She forced a hard breath, pushing her feet forward, stumbling to the outer rail to take the connecting passageway forward. The sooner she got back to the bridge, maybe Norrington wouldn't ask her to leave again.

The gun overhead let loose another shell, and she lost her footing, slumping against the rail as the vibrations ran deep through her body. An answering explosion went up, again dousing her with water, but this time rocking the ship in a violent sideways motion.

She didn't know how it happened. Something hit her, knocked her off balance and loosed her grip on the railing. She tumbled freely for the briefest of seconds before splashing down into the water, inhaling a lungful of saltwater as she screamed. She kicked for the surface, her right leg screaming in agony. The saltwater burned as she coughed it up, loosely treading water and trying to get her bearings back.

The _Icarus_ swayed violently from side to side, smoke rising in various plumes here and there along her decks. Her leg protested the movement as she swam between various floating debris, not even sure what had hit her.

"Help!" She waved a hand, splashing furiously in the water, eyes fixed on the gun turrets. She could only hope of the crew would spot her, if they couldn't hear her. "Help! Man overboard!"

Blessedly, the _Icarus_ didn't seem to moving at a fast clip. Was it because the engines were damaged? Was it intentional? Neither thought was encouraging as she continued thrashing in the water, struggling to ignore the pain in her leg.

"Man overboard!" The distant call echoed out of the ship, impossible to make out from where or who. "Fetch the ropes! Haul –!"

A shell pierced the bridge windows and erupted in a big fireball. Her heart stopped as the explosion split her eardrums and seared into her vision. Shock seized her and only the invading rush of saltwater brought her back to her own precarious position. Her arms and legs started to move again, numb to everything, as her mind raced in a litany of just one word.

 _James. James. James. James. James._


	9. Chapter 9

The medication from Powell helped, but her whole right leg still throbbed. Fortunately, there were only minor lacerations, and no broken bones or signs of permanent muscle damage. But there would be heavy bruising for weeks.

She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she sat in her cabin. After visiting sickbay, the shower had been a godsend – a chance to scrub off the salt residue and try to understand it all.

Anxiety gripped her stomach as it replayed in her mind, even though the specific details got blurry after watching the bridge go up in flames. Helplessness had utterly consumed her. Unable to rescue herself. Unable to help anyone. Unable to know if James was on the bridge when it happened.

But eventually, the shelling stopped. A life ring landed near her and she was hauled aboard. Powell's smooth words were in her ear, assessing her injuries, reassuring her that the shock would pass – a nice, warm shower would help.

Well, the shower had helped – so tranquil and undisturbed after the brutal shelling - but she wondered how long her ears would keep ringing.

The relief to see Theodore's smudged and bloody face on deck had been overwhelming. She'd hobbled over to him, ignoring the seaman's call that she should report direct to sickbay. Theodore would have the one answer that she cared about, and she wouldn't have to make a big deal about getting it. He could probably read it in her face because it was the first thing he said.

He's alive. James is alive.

A quivering sigh rattled her chest as she sat, tugging on the blanket again. Fucking hell, James had almost died today. The thought buried an ache deep in her chest that tightened with each breath. And if he had? All that opportunity, all that potential lost. Suddenly, in one bursting fireball, the truth slammed into her, stripped her down to a realization that she hadn't wanted. She loved him. She wanted everything about him.

In that moment, the company - everything her life stood for - meant nothing. Only one thing had mattered and the thought still seized in her chest. James almost died today and she'd never…. She'd never.

But what now? Now that James still lived? The rational part of her knew that _Icarus_ damage reports still streamed in, but the list was already substantial. She heard that they – somehow in the midst of their beating – managed to disable the _Black Pearl._ A well-aimed shot to her aft deck resulted in a brilliant explosion, and the shelling of the _Icarus_ immediately stopped. The pursuit stopped, too.

But the _Icarus_ managed to limp away. She didn't know anything about their present position. But it didn't really matter so long as the _Pearl_ wouldn't be able to find them here and continue the attack.

She gripped the blanket impossibly tighter with a sigh. She knew she should be sleeping. Dawn wasn't all that far away, and after the shock of today, her body could use it. But her mind just wouldn't stop spinning. There was just…she needed…she didn't want to acknowledge what she needed.

It would spell the end of everything. Her purpose here. Her career. But was it already too late after today? After the damaged ship that required more money to fix, and with no arrests to show for it. Just eight dead sailors.

Another pang shot through her, her thoughts turning instantly back to James.

God, she needed a drink. Several, in fact. It gave her the excuse.

She limped down the corridor, still clutching the blanket tight against the smell of smoke lingering in the air. The engines rested quietly below decks, their duty more than done for the day as they anchored for the night. A couple lights were out, but otherwise, the corridor looked as it always had. Oblivious to the destruction that had rained down upon the _Icarus_ just hours ago.

She knocked on his cabin door, heedless of the hour.

" _Come in._ "

She tried to ignore the flip of her stomach at actually hearing his voice. It had no right to be so comforting.

The door closed behind her and she offered a small, closed-mouth smile as she took him in. Black pajama bottoms, gray v-neck t-shirt, and bare feet as he sat on the small couch. His hair, combed in his long absent coiffed-commodore style, had some volume that her fingers suddenly itched to rake through. A highball of scotch rested on the table in front of him and a cigarette dangled from his lips. A shocking, thick strip of white bandage wrapped tight around his left bicep.

He'd never looked better.

She nodded down at the highball. "Looks like the bottle didn't break today."

"No. Help yourself."

She stepped over to the cabinet, righting another highball and splashing in the brown liquid. Her eyes dropped closed as she took a hearty gulp, the scotch burning her throat that still stung from the salt water. She turned back to face him, watching as he took another drag on the cigarette. "Didn't know you smoked."

"I don't." His gaze followed her as she walked over, sitting next to him.

"May I?"

He cocked a brow, but easily relented and held out his hand. She hadn't quite meant to take the lit one from him, instead thinking that she'd get one from his pack – that was nowhere in sight – but she accepted his offering. She pursed her lips and inhaled the long absent, familiar taste.

"Didn't know you smoked, either." His voice held a rich, rumbling quality that she'd never heard from him before. Was it from the smoke? The stress of the day?

She exhaled a white cloud, handing it back to him. "I don't."

He took it back with a gentle nod, the corner of his mouth ticking up in vague amusement. "Did Powell fix you up alright?"

"Yes – but you probably already know that from his report."

His words deformed around the cigarette. "Yes, but I still wanted to hear it from you."

"What about you? Your arm?" She took another gulp of scotch.

"Took some shrapnel. More a passing glance than anything serious."

She nodded slowly, adjusting the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Glad to hear."

He leaned forward, resting his elbow on a knee as he reached for his tumbler. "So what happens next?"

Her brow furrowed as he tipped the glass back in a smooth go. "Next?"

He hummed noncommittally around his cigarette. "You'll report back about the attack. Of the financial and human toll paid with no pirate conviction to show for it." He took a deep breath, tilting his head in consideration. "Honestly, the Admiralty probably won't even need your word. They'll read my official report and it'll be over on the spot."

"Probably. This isn't a shining victory by any stretch. And those men…." She felt her throat constrict as she looked at him, remembering the anxiety that gripped her to wonder at his fate.

"Have not died in vain - God rest their souls." His eyes dropped closed as he sighed deep. "I refuse to let that happen."

"I don't know that you'll have much of a say in it."

"Then Groves'll see to it."

She quirked a brow. "You assume Groves will be your replacement?"

"He's the only other man in the Caribbean fleet capable of the task."

"He's never captained a ship before."

"Not officially, but there's not a more competent captain."

"He's untested."

"He's battle hardened and learned from the best." There was no note of pride in his voice, just a curious note of sadness. "You'll see to his appointment? After my removal."

She shook her head with a guffaw. "I'm not likely to see to anything after this. This...this happened under my watch. It's the second of my plans to solve this mess that's gone awry."

"This wasn't your fault."

"No more than this specific instance isn't your fault."

"Felt the need to caveat that, did you?"

"I didn't come here to point fingers." She tipped her glass back, downing the rest of her scotch.

He leaned forward, stubbing out the remains of his cigarette in his empty tumbler. "They why are you here?"

"Truthfully?" She didn't mean to sound so tentative, but the word had passed.

He turned to look at her, his brow furrowing. "Why would you lie?"

"I could tell you I'm here for the scotch." She dropped her empty glass to the table besides his before leaning back. His scent of clean soap and something fresh - enticing - reached her, sparking warmth in her blood. Would he respond if she just kissed him? Her breath quickened with the thrill of unknown anticipation. Would he kiss her? Push her back against the couch? Remind her how alive they both were?

Was it so wrong to want another person so desperately?

The distant part of her brain screamed yes, but the rest of her was already past the point of no return.

She sighed "But...I thought you died today." She met his gaze and the air charged, crackling with electric promise. Had it always been there? She didn't fucking care anymore.

Lips met in a firm push, a solid touch of affirmation and need. His lips were surprisingly soft as they slid against hers, his breath hot on her skin . The feel of his hand against her neck, the telltale strength in those fingers coupled with the tender touch, rushed liquid heat between her thighs. It was so fucking good, but not enough. Not near enough.

She yielded, opening her mouth for him to plunder. And he did - so eagerly, so thoroughly, drawing her tongue into his mouth to suck gently. A moan slipped from her throat and he swallowed it. Her hand settled on his thigh, kneading the muscle in an attempt to coax him closer.

She sighed against his lips. "I shouldn't want this…but god, tell me you want this, too."

He groaned, nuzzling along her jaw. "I've wanted this longer than I should. Longed to make you lose that fucking arrogance and fall apart."

"Fuck, James. I had –."

"When I found you in his arms – I wanted to take you against the bulkhead right there. Show you who's really in charge here for fucking once."

She surged against his lips, everything in her screaming. Let him take her. Let him claim her. She battled him in the kiss, pushing up against him, desperate to just have him.

He caught her lip between his teeth, nipping lightly before withdrawing. "Now you tell me – is it worth it to you?"

His words cut through the fog in her brain, straight to the rational part that fully damn well knew better. This would be the unequivocal final nail in the coffin after today. But her blood sang under his touch and the genuine light in his green eyes utterly undid her. He almost died today, and she almost lost so much with it. So much that she wanted. So much that she was tired of denying.

She couldn't kiss him fast enough, drowning in his deep growling exhale as he pulled her close.

In a flurry of movement, she fell back against the couch under him, shifting her legs to allow him to rest in between them. There was no hiding the solid muscles that he kept so effortlessly concealed, nor his hard arousal that pressed eagerly against her. Her hips rocked against his and it's so damn _not enough_ good.

Her fingers tugged at the hem of his t-shirt until it was gone, and she clung to the broad, strong shoulders as the buttons of her shirt fell away. She gasped as his lips explored the newly exposed skin, raking through his hair. The rest of her mind shut down completely as his touch set every nerve aflame.

The sudden loss of his heat and pressure pulled a whimper from her as he withdrew to bare her from the waist down. A groan rumbled in his throat as his eyes raked appreciatively over the sight before him. "Fuck, you're clean shaven."

She chuckled throatily, rolling her hips invitingly. "Surprise."

He groaned another filthy sound - mouthing, kissing down her naval, her stomach until he tasted her with broad strokes of his tongue, the teasing graze of his teeth. The sudden rush of _oh fuck yes_ sensation pulled a cry from her as her hands gripped his hair tight. It was so much, so consuming, and oh so _damn_ good.

But right now, his mouth just wasn't enough.

"No, not now, James - please. I just - I need to feel you." She tugged on his hair, mewling as he licked one last stripe across her soaked entrance, followed by a teasing kiss.

He raised up and she met his hands to remove his remaining clothing. It was entirely too long before she assured him that he didn't need anything, and he settled back atop her, sliding _finally oh_ deep inside. She felt so full, so fucking right, and they both struggled to breathe. Until he started to move - then it was impossible to breathe.

Grunts tore from them in unison as their bodies connected, over and over, sparks shooting up her spine. She groaned, clutching him close. "So much better than I imagined."

His hips stuttered in a harsh thrust. "Don't say things like that."

She chuckled throatily, raking her fingers down his back as he moved again. "You don't want to hear how I thought about you in the shower the morning after we met? How I came around my fingers? Imagining it was you?"

His lips sealed to hers, swallowing her cries as the driving rhythm of his hips increased. Words dissolved into incoherent babble, hands raking, gripping as the rest moved quickly. So soon, so good, _not soon enough_ , faster, _oh fuck, James!_

Her mind floated above her body and it couldn't be more perfect. She kept her legs tight around his waist, holding him close as they both drifted, lost in the post-bliss haze. Would it always be like this with him?

She sighed, sated and content, hugging him closer. "Ugh, I want to fucking do that again."

His answering chuckle danced along her shoulder. "I'm not as young as I used to be, darling."

"Later, then. But I will hold you to your earlier offer." Her lips brushed his cheek. "I still want your mouth."

His lips curled in a smile. "And I still want to give it to you. Until you beg for mercy."

She groaned, her inner muscles clenching around him. "Keep talking like that and you might not get any yourself." She flexed around him again, delighting in his short hiss.

"Mmm, you'll be the death of me, won't you?"

"Don't you doubt it. But not yet…not so soon after…" Her words faltered and worry crept into the lines of her face, tearing through her bravado to expose the concern beneath. The jumble of emotions that she didn't want to voice aloud as she gazed into his so-green eyes.

He lowered to nuzzle her neck, the touch comforting, reassuring. "You didn't lose me…if you're not careful, you may never lose me."

She huffed a breath, still holding him close. "Even when we're both unemployed with no prospects to our name?"

His answering sigh gusted across her skin. Even he couldn't deny all that loomed over them. Even he couldn't easily let go of his duty and responsibility to accept a life in disgrace.

She shook her head slowly, trying to sort through everything. There was no going back from this now. And she'd always been better at solving problems than admitting defeat.

Angling her head, she met his lips in a soft kiss, carding a hand through his hair. He kissed her back with such fervor, as if it was the only thing that made sense.

Maybe it was.

"Guess we have until dawn to figure this out."

"Together?"

"Together."

* * *

Them bloody bastards! What'd they have to go banging up his _Pearl_ for?! And what the hell kind of merchant ship had guns on it, anyway?!

Jack paced, furious and frustrated and wild-eyed. Anamaria already told him that he looked like a caged zoo animal. He'd never been to the zoo, so he really couldn't say. Didn't like the principal of them, wild things deserving their freedom and such.

But that one well-placed gun shell had crippled his freedom. Lit up the fuel tank like bloody fireworks.

It was only a miracle that no one had died. A couple of burns and bruises, but that fireball hadn't taken any lives with it. Jack couldn't say that he hoped for the same on that other ship.

That other ship that rankled him. Incensed him. He ain't done nothing deserving that. Yes, he opened fire first – like any honest pirate – a'cause the _Icarus_ was worth her weight in gold. But it were a ruse A dirty, rotten trick- nay! A trap!

But who? Why?!

Rushed footsteps thundered up the stairs to the bridge. "Captain!" Gibbs' panting breaths slurred the words. "Ship off the starboard bow! Making fast – the _Dutchman_!"

"No. Not good. Not good!" He fished around his console for binoculars, lost somewhere in the shuffle. Ah ha! He moved for the window, raising them to look where Gibbs pointed. "Not good." Of course, he'd recognize that masthead anywhere.

Gibbs looked hesitantly back to Jack. "Orders, captain?"

"Unless someone's managed to pull a spare fuel system out of their arse, we're with the tide. Doubtful Jones is equally deprived." It would be plain as day to Jones and his men that the _Pearl_ were damaged. That's probably the only merciful reason why Jones hadn't started blasting him yet. It wouldn't be a long lasting gift.

But so what? Say Jonesy takes the _Pearl_ out from under him now, then what? That honeytrap _Icarus_ would still be out there. And how many more honest and dishonest pirates would she claim?

Jack lowered the binoculars. "Not good." He turned for the radio, switching the receiver to Channel 1. Any pirate worth his salt at least monitored Channel 1. Never knew when the navy would run up your arse, or some passerby would report you for floating.

He coughed once, twice before depressing the receiver, summoning his best proper, English gentleman. "Ahoy, vessel south-southwest of Montserrat. You look to be a purveyor of SAILFISH. I'd like to barter a deal. Channel 13, if you're interested." He didn't dare say a word more. Less them navy lads pop in to interrupt him, to remind him to conduct business off the main channel.

Bloomin' blighters.

" _Channel 13 for sailfish."_

Jack had never been so pleased to hear the equally cultured voice. He switched to receive on Channel 13.

"Ahoy, sailfish."

A soft snicker. " _Ahoy, oyster."_

Oh, good. Jack worried that maybe Jones wouldn't recognize him. "We appreciate you're willing to deal. We're rather hungry."

" _Yes, you look hungry. Deal with another ship fall through?"_

"Sadly. The _Icarus._ Took us for everything we had, left us high and dry."

" _The_ Icarus? _You don't say."_

"Have you had rotten dealings with her, too?"

" _The worst."_ Jonesy's voice had only ever dropped to that low, ominous register twice that Jack could recall. Interesting. Very interesting indeed to know that whatever - whoever - this _Icarus_ was, it was personal for the other man.

"Well, after we complete our deal - she should be just around the island, if you'd like to claim reparations."

" _Our deal first. I believe the thirteen credits from our last transaction are spent."_

"I've only used two! Maybe another half this past year. Check your books again, my credit's good."

" _Hmmm, two indeed. You've had far more'n that. But if you gave the_ Icarus _half as rotten as she dealt you, you can have your sailfish free today, on account of the generous tip."_

Jack breathed an immediate sigh of relief. "Wonderful! Yes, excellent. Thank you for your continuing generosity."

" _Only until next time, oyster."_

Next time. Jack could work with next time. Today mattered more.

With Jones giving him a free pass and instead pursuing the _Icarus_ , he could free his mind to tend to his beloved _Pearl_. She needed so much love after the past couple of days and reassurance after that awful name.

His _Pearl_ was no oyster. The nerve of some people.

* * *

Theodore straightened his posture as Norrington entered the wardroom. Ever since his CO had caught him embracing Cutlena, he made sure to sharpen up his actions. Yes, he knew better than to fall so far from proper naval decorum, but, well. He was only human and he'd denied himself so long where she was concerned.

But therein lay the question. Even if he had his way, he didn't know what could really be different. Any entanglements with her would jeopardize her assignment, as well as any prospects for him. Maybe when this was all over? Yes, she told him that he wasn't the one she wanted but he'd felt her melt back into the press of his body. Maybe he stood a chance yet.

She'd never admitted that Norrington was the other man that night. It was clever of her. To let him do all the speculating, maintaining her innocence, even if look on her face had given her away. But, of course, it was clever of her.

Cutlena had always been clever. Even from that moment when she locked the library door behind her ten years ago.

She stood, opposite the wardroom from him now, quietly to herself as the rest of the crew quieted down. Theodore wasn't surprised. The last two days since the _Pearl_ 's attack had been taxing.

Norrington drew a breath. "All hands, listen up." The rest of the din died away, all eyes and ears on him now. "Your service these past two days has been exemplary. I could not have asked for any better of anyone in performance of your duties. Duties made all the harder for the losses suffered. Our friends, crewmen, and fellow sailors. But as long as we continue this fight, their sacrifices are not in vain."

A few nods of assent and calls of "aye, sir" sounded. It made Theodore's lips pull into a small, closed-mouth smile. Never doubt a sailor's spirit.

Norrington nodded. "And rest assured that this fight is far from over. Toliver and his team have worked tirelessly to restore the engines to 85% capacity. Guns from the undamaged starboard battery have been transferred to the portside. The majority of the bridge was largely damaged by the explosion, but limited control has been restored to a few consoles. As such, shipboard operations will still be commanded from the bridge but largely executed out of auxiliary control."

The commodore paused, glancing at him. "Groves has spoken with each of you regarding new shift rotations. We're four days out from Port Royal, and once in port, you will all be granted a leave with full compliments while repairs are made to the ship. But until then, we will maintain battle readiness alert level. And we will continue to support each other as admirably as we have the past two days. Without doubt, more challenges lie ahead, but we will come out on top."

He paused for a brief moment. "Any questions?"

A general chorus of "no, sir" rose from the crew. Cutlena, for her part, still stood silent and watchful.

Norrington nodded. "Then, all hands to stations. Toliver - stand ready to get underway."

Sure enough, in the next 12 hours that Theodore spent posted at auxiliary control, the engine coolant pump coupling jammed twice and the radar antenna stopped transmitting for three hours.

He had to keep reminding himself that it could be worse. They could be stranded for good. The lifeboats could be inoperable. More of the crew could be dead.

He fished in his bunk for his hidden bottle of whiskey, quickly pulling the cork. There was no need to bother with a glass. He took a long drink, followed by another as he tore at the buttons on his shirt.

Oh, well. Tomorrow was another day. Another 12-hour shift that would start in less than six hours.

He knew he should have sacked out sooner when the next day found him with wire strippers in hand.

It had been years since he'd needed to fall back on his basic mechanic skills, and he'd never proven to be much of a handyman, but under Toliver's guidance, he knew just enough to be dangerous. And quite literally, too, since he was splicing battery buses together. Cutlena had stared at him nervously, with wide eyes, from her station the whole time.

"Alright," he twisted the last two wires together, capping off the connection. He spoke into his portable radio. "Toliver – the green and orange wires are connected."

" _Green and orange. Copy that."_ A banging noise followed Toliver's words. " _Stand by, bridge, to energize Main Bus B."_

He replaced the panel cover, waiting for word. If Main Bus B couldn't supplement the failing Main Bus A, then this would be a much shorter trip than advertised.

Jenkins let out a victory whoop. "Nav guidance restored to the bridge."

" _Available voltage levels rising across the ship."_ Toliver confirmed. " _Well done, lieutenant."_

Theodore couldn't stop a smile, hefting the wire cutters as he spoke back into the radio. "Copy that, Toliver."

Norrington came up behind him, speaking into the receiver. "Good job, Mr. Toliver."

Jenkins cut in. "Transferring nav data from auxiliary control. Bearing confirmed and locked. Auxiliary control switched to reserve."

Norrington turned towards the man. "Keep a live channel open with auxiliary control. We only gained control here as a bonus with more power, but if we lose Bus A completely, auxiliary control will already need our live position."

"Yes, sir."

" _Sir!"_ Simmons' voice commanded attention, radioing in from auxiliary control. " _Incoming radar contact, two points forward of starboard beam! Long range."_

Theodore couldn't believe it, looking to Norrington for confirmation. "Long range?"

The commodore threw open a ship-wide channel. "All hands, brace for impact. Helm – change course, heading broad on the starboard bow. Swing our stern around _now_."

Theodore adjusted the channel on his radio. "Starboard gun battery, stand read-."

A bone-shaking explosion rocked the ship. Water sprayed up on the ship's starboard side, sending a dousing mist in through the blown out bridge windows. Nothing that should short out the already precarious panels, but it still wouldn't take much.

Norrington squinted ahead as the ship continued to turn. "Do we have visual yet?"

" _Just barley, sir._ " The watch reported. " _Presenting her broadside to launch another attack. It – Christ, it looks like the_ Dutchman _again, sir."_

" _Dutchman_?" Norrington fixed a glare on Cutlena. "Don't you control him?"

Her face hardened, displeasure and anger rampant in her features. "We'll see." She turned to her laptop, fingers flying furiously over the keyboard as all Theodore could do was stare.

Since when did Cutlena – and the EITC by extension – control Davy Jones? Of course, it had been suspicious when the _Dutchman_ broke pursuit off St. Kitts, but he hadn't actually considered that she gave Jones orders.

" _Sir – another incoming!"_

Similar calls to brace for impact were issued, but at least their stern and broadsides were covered now. A direct hit to the bow wouldn't be as detrimental . They weren't in good firing position, so Theodore held the starboard battery at the ready.

A definitive keystroke sounded from Cutlena's computer just as another explosion seared his eyes and pounded in his ears. Just off the port bow, sending up a fantastic spray of water through the broken windows. Various cries rang out as water doused people and equipment. He quickly threw the radio behind his back, ducking his head against the incoming water. Blinking the water from his eyes, he looked back towards the bow, just able to see the dark figure of the attacking ship ahead.

" _Target confirmed._ Flying Dutchman _dead ahead and moving towards present position. She's run out her colors."_

Cutlena shook her head, brushing wet hair form her face. "No response yet." Angry frustration coiled her words tight. "Jones is on his own."

Norrington shot her a pensive look. "Then, so are we."

She visibly paled, gulping as if to swallow some terrible realization. "Very well."

The commodore's wet shoes squished across the floor as water sloshed with the ship's movements. He stopped at the mostly defunct radar panel, pressing a button to call up the controls. "Torpedo status?"

Theodore's eyes widened on the word, but relayed the call down to auxiliary control, waiting tensely for the response.

" _We have no-"_

" _Incoming!"_

The ship violently shook, the smell of smoke and burning metal filling the air. He stared wide eyed down at the smoldering, ripped-up remains of the bow. The billowing smoke rose thick and black, wafting into the bridge, pulling a cough from his throat.

A blaring alarm sounded from Jenkins' panel and he quickly shut it down. "Fire alarms and suppression systems active on forward Decks B through E."

" _Bridge,"_ Simmons in auxiliary control came back over the radio. " _I repeat again, negative ability to arm or launch torpedoes. Both systems are offline and unresponsive."_

Theodore's heart sank. "Acknowledged." Were they still too far out of gun range? Not that they had any real ability to maneuver or place aimed shots.

" _Bridge! From the watch, we've taken up position abeam on the portside._ Dutchman _tracking around our portside."_

He poised his hand over the receiver, drawing a breath to unleash the portside gun battery. Even if it the _Dutchman_ wasn't in range. It would make him feel better than just sitting here, getting blown to hell.

Three quick shots rang out, each shaking the ship with violent rolls and jarring vibrations. He lost his footing and stumbled into the nearest console, hearing cries from other crewmen similarly knocked off their feet, more water splashing up through the windows. The smell of smoke and destruction hung heavy in the bridge as people pulled back to their feet.

Norrington stumbled to the radio console. "Simmons…report?"

" _Sir, I- she hit – fire – unresponsive."_ Static interrupted Simmons' response, further making Theodore's stomach drop. The number of available options was running precariously thin.

"Simmons?" Norrington tried again, his grip visibly tight on the radio receiver.

"Sir," Jenkins' voice was heavy with helplessness, "helm is unresponsive. Simmons will have to confirm if he has our present bearing and coordinates."

Cutlena blinked, wide-eyed and looking strangely defeated. Such a foreign expression on such a sure woman's face. "What…what does that mean…?"

Norrington forced a visible swallow, his face hardening with a solemn resolve. "We've done all we can, and we cannot afford another hit like that." His gaze landed on Theodore who recognized the look and knew exactly what came next. "Abandon ship. Abandon ship, all hands to lifeboats. No exceptions."

His feet moved on instinct, hand hesitating over the emergency klaxon before he flipped the switch. The terrible, garish blaring horn sounded in all corners of the ship, Jenkins and others abandoning their posts and making for the designated rendezvous point. Powell would see to getting the wounded moved, and Simmons would start shuttering auxiliary control.

"Simmons." Theodore tried his radio again. "Come in?"

" _Sir – we've cleaned up….signal. Crew….assembly point."_

"Groves?" Norrington's voice drew his gaze. "Does Simmons have our last nav data?"

He dreaded to know the reason behind the commodore's question as he pushed his radio button. "Simmons, come back – do you have last nav data? Repeat – last nav data?"

More explosions sounded outside the ship, violent rattles and shakes, more struggling. He hissed as his hand caught the sharp edge of a console as he staggered for balance.

" _Confirmed. Position…data acquired."_

Norrington nodded. "Excellent. You'd better get to the rally point, Groves. The crew needs you now." He stepped towards Theodore, burdened determination in his gaze.

Theodore drew a sharp breath, the realization slamming into him. "No, sir. They still have you. You said no exceptions."

Norrington's mouth ticked up in a resigned smile. "Only the captain can countermand his own orders."

Theodore drew a breath to protest, but he was quickly cut off.

"You've always been an exemplary officer. By far one of the best that I've served with. Good luck and Godspeed to you."

He shook his head, jaw tensing in frustration. "This isn't the 1600s, sir. You don't have to go down with the ship."

"There's nothing waiting for me back there. Just my third lost ship in two years, and a damages suit from the EITC. Or have I forgotten something, Ms. Beckett?"

Theodore cut her off. "James, this is insane!"

"Not when you're going to need cover to escape capture or destruction. Away over the starboard side and for the love of God, stay out of range." He nodded reassuringly. "I'll do my best to hold them off, but you have to go right now. That's an order."

He forced a hard swallow, reaching out for James' hand and sharing a vigorous shake. "It's been a true honor. Godspeed to you, James." He turned towards Cutlena, ignoring the lead weight in his chest. "Come on. We have to go now."

She stood, soaked and unmoving, seemingly paralyzed by either fear or indecision. It was hard to tell.

"Cutlena?"

Her eyes sought his, as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Theodore. I'm not coming, either."

"Am I the only one who understands what no exceptions means?! You don't have to go down with him!" He turned back to James, pointing at her. "Tell her. Order her!"

"Theodore, listen. Please." Her calm words drew his attention back, feeling his heart already break further at the defeat in her eyes. "I failed. This whole thing – it's a failure. With Norrington's removal, comes my removal, and yet another lost ship..."

"Then fix it. Come with me and make it right."

She scoffed. "Do you honestly believe my father will allow that? Or my bosses? They've sent me here and all they've gotten is a bigger mess. I refuse to live with that put upon disgrace."

"God, Cutlena." He looked miserably at her. He hadn't realized that she could still hold such sway over him after all these years. "I just…"

She stepped up to him, taking his hand. "You have to go. The crew needs you more than ever now. And you'll do great. You always have." Her other hand cupped his face, drawing him into a solid kiss. A kiss of regret, a kiss of goodbye. His hands flew to cup her cheeks, desperate to keep her close, to commit this one moment to memory.

She sighed against his lips as they parted. "This is my choice."

"I know." Heartbreak showed plain in his face, but he didn't voice the sentiment. With a deep sigh, he pulled from her touch with a final nod and a glance back at James before he forced himself to abandon the bridge, slogging through the sloshing water.

God, he needed to keep it together. No matter that his commanding officer and the woman occupying his thoughts were both giving up everything. And for what? For pride? For dignity? He wanted to yell at both of them - convince them that they were idiots and there was so much more worth living life for. But there was no time.

The crew. He needed to think about the crew. To pull them through this.

Then, he could fall apart.

He ran down the stairs towards the deck, taking in the evacuation operations. The first boat was already in the water and the second one sat poised in its davits.

Simmons looked to him, bracing against the lifeboat. "Sir! All crew aboard, except for you, the commodore and Beckett."

"Excellent. It's just me." He didn't miss Simmons' shocked look, the questions burning in his gaze. But there was even less time. "Make preparations for launch."

"Yes, sir." Simmons' voice was tight, but he knew his naval discipline.

Theodore's heart raced the whole way down the side of the ship, his stomach knotted with heartache as the lifeboat bobbed in the waves. A voice screamed in the back of his head, still stunned by the situation. God dammit. There was no reason for them to both fucking die!

He reached for the radio receiver, contacting the other boat. Even he marveled at even tone of his voice as he conveyed orders. Pull away from the _Icarus._ Stay clear of the incoming fire. The harbor on the far side of the island was the destination. He could see shots from the _Dutchman_ splintering the water around them, hear them ping off the hull, the bulk of fire still directed at the _Icarus_.

" _Copy that._ " Toliver's voice came over the radio. " _We'll take up rear position, captain."_

"Roger." Theodore sighed, his heart clenching.

Captain. It shouldn't be him. Not like this.

"Oh my god…." Simmons' voice sounded over his shoulder. "The crazy bastard…"

Theodore looked out the window, stunned to see the _Icarus_ lining up towards the pirate ship, smoking bow first and start to gain in speed.

Another sailor muttered with a disbelieving laugh. "Oh shit, he's going to ram her."

"Fat lotta good it'll do without the torpedos." Simmons shook his head solemnly.

Had they found a way to arm the torpedoes after the crew disembarked? He could only hope. The anxious knot in his stomach tightened as the _Icarus_ continued to close the distance. And he was powerless to stop it. He and the crew could only wait. And watch.

In a mix of horror and fascination, the bow of the _Icarus_ slammed into the side of the _Dutchman_ in a fantastic burst of flames. Fire spread along the _Dutchman's_ main deck as the obliterated bow of the _Icarus_ started to pull her down into the water. His stomach dropped through his feet as flames engulfed the front half of the _Icarus_. If there was any hope for James and Cutlena...well, they hadn't wanted hope.

The rest played out in agonizing slow motion. The cessation of gunfire, the chaos of the _Dutchman_ 's crew abandoning ship, the sinking of both intertwined ships. Rescue operations. Confirming that, as expected, James and Cutlena were not to be found among the survivors. Setting a course for the harbor.

Theodore didn't consider himself a particularly religious man, but as he watched the rising bubbles and floating flotsam where the ships had previously stood, he offered up a prayer. A prayer for their souls. A prayer for his and for the strength to carry on in their stead. A prayer for the continued safety of the crew.

For there was no doubt in his mind. If the _Dutchman_ hadn't been sunk, the crew wouldn't have reached the harbor alive. But James and Cutlena changed that. They turned what was already a failure into a victory. There would be at least thirty arrests, and one less famous name on the seas.

At least, Jones hadn't numbered among the survivors either. Better for a captain to go down with his ship in the face of disgrace. Just like James.

As the boats continued to plow through the water towards the security of the harbor, Theodore Groves vowed to do everything in his power to continue the work that James and Cutlena started.


	10. Chapter 10

_Present Day_

The knock on his office door broke Jonathon Beckett, Sr.'s reverie. Oh, dear. Was it time for the meeting already?

His prim secretary confirmed as much after opening the door, informing him that the motorcade had just arrived. He rose from his desk, brushing a hand down the front of his immaculate suit to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles. With barely a passing thanks to Mrs. Prince, he left the pleasant confines of his office, striding down the officious hallway.

He knew where the reception had been arranged and the order for the day. In the grand scheme of things, meeting with the Minister of Finance should not have been high on their list of priorities when receiving the crown's highest honors, but nonetheless, here it was.

But if anyone offered heart-melting condolences on the untimely death of his only child, well. Of course, he would control himself, but that wouldn't stop the disgust from roiling in his belly.

Everything in the reception room passed his inspection upon arrival. Of course, everything was in its place and of course, he was the first to arrive. Mrs. Prince always saw to that.

The heavy door opened with a soft click of the latch, admitting the governor and the commodore. Beckett recalled meeting the governor once, maybe twice, before the man took his up Caribbean office, but Groves he remembered quite well from the holiday parties. Always a bit of a rogue, more out to have a laugh than seriously contribute to the world. Beckett had always felt military service was an appropriate choice for the young man.

The smile on Governor Swann's face filled out, full and wide. "Ah, my Lord Beckett. It's an honor to see you again."

Becket forced a small, pleasant smile, stepping forward to offer his hand. "Indeed, Governor. You, as well. Welcome back to London on such a glorious occasion. And you, commodore."

Groves tipped his head politely. "Thank you, my lord. Your warm welcome is most gracious. Thank you for taking the time."

"Of course," Beckett kept his tone neutral, "the end of piracy in the Caribbean is a great victory for the empire and the wellbeing of the empire's finances."

"To that end, my lord," Groves continued, "I would like to introduce two people who are due as much credit for this victory as myself."

Oh, dear lord. Beckett stalled an annoyed sigh, disciplined by decades of government service. "Please. I should be happy to meet them." Happy, indeed. He didn't need to waste his time making idle chat with two nobodies that Groves decided to bestow charity upon.

"Thank you, sir. I'll just be a moment." The commodore turned and walked back over to the door.

Governor Swann smiled appreciatively. "I think you'll be very pleased to meet them. They were instrumental in supporting Commodore Groves, though the commodore's achievements are not to be understated."

"Of course not." He watched Groves re-enter the reception room, but this time with two people in tow. A man and a woman, neither of whom were dressed in any uniform or finery.

The mad had tousled salt and pepper hair – could he really not be troubled to use a comb for a meeting with the Minister of Finance? He stood a good deal taller than himself, and maybe, just maybe there was something familiar in the lines of his face, in his sharp gaze. But it was nothing worth remembering. And the woman -.

The woman stopped his heart. Her hair was longer than he'd ever seen it, but there was no mistaking the eyes and face of his only child.

His daughter who…was quite dead.

He reached out to stabilize against the nearest chair, stunned and feeling an ache start in the back of his skull.

She nodded slowly, lips pursed. "Father." The room fell silent as she waited for him to speak, but no words came. She sighed, a flash of annoyance in her gaze. "As you can see, I didn't die two years ago. But the reports were accurate – I did go down with the _Icarus_ , but we survived."

Beckett summoned his voice, coiled tight. "We?" His gaze darted to the man, suddenly hating why he looked vaguely familiar.

"Yes, sir," the stranger started, inclining his head. "James Norrington."

Of course. Beckett should have known from the start. His grip on the chair tightened, his mouth pursing in anger. After all the media circus hoops he had jumped through, discussing both of their deaths and the shameful disgrace of failure - only to now have them both just turn up at his office?! He ought to see them both shot for such deceit!

Governor Swann stepped forward. "They both worked tirelessly undercover. Infiltrating known pirate bands and reporting to Groves with viable intel that he made swift use of. It could not have been a more successful partnership, if I do say so myself."

Beckett fixed a withering glare on Groves. "And you. Did you approve this venture?"

"No, sir," Groves answered firmly, "I was not made aware of their plans until eight months in. Until that time, I believed – as you did – that they had perished."

"And you didn't see fit to inform me?"

Groves stiffened. "No, sir. Revealing their presence to you would have undone everything they were trying to accomplish in going undercover."

Beckett sneered. "And if that venture had failed? What then?"

Norrington huffed a soft laugh. "Well, we were already dead. Dying for real wouldn't have made any difference."

Beckett fumed at the nerve of the man. "Be that as it may, if you're here looking to reclaim your old lives, I'm afraid that's right out of the question. No matter your merits or support in this venture. Unofficial and unsanctioned, as it was."

Cutlena smiled politely. "Of course not. That's not why we're here."

He shot her a sharp glare. "Then why are you here?"

"I thought you just might like to know that your only child is actually still alive."

"Under these circumstances, I'd rather that you were still dead."

A harsh silence fell in the wake of his words. It mattered little. If word of his not-dead daughter were to reach the press, this would be an unending field day. An unmitigated disaster of epic proportions that would derail everything his career had stood for.

Her smile widened with a razor-sharp edge. "Yes, sir. You needn't worry about me ever again."

Norrington shook his head, judgement ripe in his gaze. "You heartless bastard. I hadn't wanted to believe anyone was as cruel as your daughter's stories made you out to be, but now I see she wasn't exaggerating."

He cut his gaze over to Norrington. "And what gives you any right to comment on the matter?"

Amusement lit the man's green eyes. "I'm your son-in-law. Or, would be, if we were still officially alive."

"Then thank God I don't have to claim you."

Cutlena looked between Swann, who looked ready to faint, and Groves, who looked appropriately solemn. "And on that note, I think we'll conclude this reunion." Her gaze settled back on him and he could only reel at his daughter's presumptuous attitude. Everything that he'd spent his life instilling in her was so obviously wasted and corrupted now. But he continued to listen to her. "Take care, father, and farewell. Thank you, governor and Theodore, for the opportunity. Please enjoy your commendations. They are well deserved."

Beckett sneered in disgust as her hand fell into Norrington's, other polite farewells passing around him. Such a shameless, public display - made even worse when she leaned over kissing Theodore's cheek. Beckett blanched at the sheer wantonness of the woman. He didn't even bother to speak as the couple turned from him, walking back across the plush carpet.

Even if that woman still walked the earth, the woman he'd known as his daughter had died two years ago. Sadly, that knowledge did nothing to ease the frustration and disappointment that he knew would linger for the rest of his life.


	11. Chapter 11

_Four Years ago  
_ _Aboard the_ Icarus

She recognized the book of sonnets instantly from his cabin aboard the _Providence_. She reached for it, careful not to disturb him as he dozed beside her. Her body still floated in a sated, pleasant space and she wasn't quite ready to abandon such a peaceful moment with him for sleep.

She flipped back the blue leather cover, skimming the pages. Each sonnet was lovingly annotated. A word underlined here. A note scribbled there. Had this been from his days at uni? A class on Shakespearean literature? Or was this all on his own? His own way to retreat from the day and demands of his post? She turned another page, smiling warmly at the text.

She didn't jump when his hand settled on her arm.

"Making yourself at home?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"It was the on the table. I wondered about it from the first time I saw it."

He hummed lazily, rolling over on his side and tucking in closer against her. "Wondered what about it?"

"If it was personal for you. Or just for show." She looked over at him with a small smile, flashing him a page. "These annotations are carefully made and thoroughly explored. On every single page that I've seen, so far."

"And your verdict?"

"There might just be a poet lurking beneath the military man somewhere."

He scoffed with a rumbling laugh. "Hardly. I'm envious of those who have a way with words. The Bard just happens to be a personal favorite."

"Could be argued he's the original."

"Are you a fan, as well?"

"Hardly." She scoffed in return. "I'm familiar with the popular ' _Friends, Romans, countrymen_ ' and _'To be or not to be_ ', but beyond that…oh, I think I read _Love's Labor's Lost_ and _Much Ado About Nothing_ in school."

His green eyes shone with fond amusement. "I won't hold it against you."

She breathed a soft laugh, unable to stop herself from leaning over until her lips met his. The kiss was lazy, slow, and…oddly content. Everything about this just felt too right. She leaned further into him, drinking up his sigh as his arm snaked around her back, holding her close. Her hands, still holding the book, caught awkwardly between them.

She laughed softly, shuffling to better get comfortable as she brought her arm with the book to rest on his chest. How was his t-shirt so soft? "Which one of these is your favorite?"

"Depends on my mood."

"How about right now?"

His smile lit with wicked promise. "Number 129 – the one about lust."

"Mmm." A wave of answering heat bolted through her. "Sounds intriguing."

"It's not the most uplifting. 'All this the world well knows, yet none knows well to shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.'"

She coked a brow. "And being with me makes you think of that?"

He smirked, leaning in to just brush her lips. "You did ask."

"But I thought –."

"You thought I'd go for the more popular ones? 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?' Or 'Let me count the ways'."

"A girl can always hope."

He rolled over, using his weight to press her back against the bunk, her eyes wide with eager anticipation as he plucked the book from her hand, setting it carefully aside.

"Then allow me to educate you." He started drifting down, words tingling along her skin as his hand settled to her waist. "On the virtues of Shakespeare's other sonnets."

She hummed appreciatively as he rucked up her shirt, his lips dancing along the tops of her breasts.

"Numbers 36 and 96," he drew a hardened peak between his teeth, "that both end in the same couplet. 'But do not so; I love thee in such sort'." He slid over to her other breast as she moaned, hands carding through his hair. "As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.'"

"God, James." Her legs wrapped around his waist, trying to push up into his hips.

His answering chuckle rumbled against her skin as he abandoned her chest, trailing down her stomach. "Or how about Number 99 - with the extra line - 'but sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee'." His tongue dipped into her navel. "Requires that much more patience to reach the sonnet's resolution."

A whimper sounded in her throat, dissolving into a moan as his fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts. Sure, it had only been a matter of hours since she'd last had his touch - but nothing was going to stop her from having him again. She lifted her hips, easing the slide of fabric as his breath ghosted over the newly revealed skin.

"And, of course, Number 147." A kiss pressed to her inner thigh, teeth just nipping the sensitive skin as words danced. "'Past cure I am, now reason is past care, and frantic-mad with evermore unrest'." His tongue trailed along the tight leg muscle as her hips bucked, desperate for him to just fucking take her already. "'My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, at random from the truth vainly expressed'."

She tugged at his hair, a needy sigh on her lips. "James, please….I want you."

He pressed a kiss just shy of where she craved him most. "'For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night'."

She lost all thought when his tongue swept along her and pushed inside.

X

"Your company's going to come at me with a damages suit, aren't they?" He pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

"Yes. Especially once you're removed from your association with the Royal Navy." She sighed, holding onto him tighter in the tangled bedsheets. "Though, I wouldn't put it past them to send a suit to the Royal Navy, as well. Gross negligence for letting you remain in command for so long and so forth."

"And that's just once the Admiralty's enquiries are complete." He shook his head. "Those proceedings have been known to drag on for months – years, sometimes."

"Usually the higher profile the subject, the longer and more public the proceedings."

"Don't remind me."

"And what's more high profile than the youngest commodore the naval fleet has known?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "You think anyone will notice if I change my name?"

Her mouth upturned, looking at him sharply. "You? A man of your honor?"

He chuckled half-heartedly. "Then perhaps I'll just resign my commission before they can file anything formal against me. Disappear on an island for a time – grow out my hair and a beard. Fight piracy from the inside. Undercover."

"You try to disappear, and they will hunt you down. The company only ever lets someone get away if they're dead, and even then, they still might seek reparations from the family."

"Well, they're welcome to try, but they'll find my family has very little offer that they'd care about."

Her brow pinched in curiosity. "Had a bit of a falling out?"

"Familial love was never there to fall out. My military parents were good with discipline and order, but lacking in the emotional support."

"Well, you seem well-adjusted enough."

He snorted a breathy chuckle. "We haven't even been together for twenty-four hours yet."

Her brows raised. "Is that what we are now? Together?"

He laved his tongue along her collarbone. "I don't know what else you would call this."

"And when the sun rises?"

"Same as it has been - make for port, pursue our quarry."

"That won't work."

"I refuse to admit defeat."

She sighed. "As I've said – I don't think that will be your choice to make. Admiralty orders travel fast over the ocean, you know. Hell, my termination notice may already be in my inbox."

"Then come work undercover with me. We'll take down piracy from within."

She laughed at the thought, but really – wait, was there something to it….? They both stood to lose everything they had – positions, status, employment, security. Her even more so with this newly developed romantic entanglement. There was no way she would be allowed to continue her assignment when they found out she'd fallen willingly into James Norrington"s bed.

In a word, it was simple. She had failed. At everything. Failed to stop the rising pirate threat. Failed to bring the man Sparrow to justice. Failed to objectively report on the commodore's fitness for command.

For the first time in her life, she had failed.

The realization hit hard, pitting deep in her chest. Now that the idea had taken root in her brain, the cause-analysis was easy. So many moments filtered through her mind – moments where she should have spoken up. Put an end to this lunacy. Questioned his orders and demanded a different course.

But it was just too late now. Too late for redemption.

The gears started turning. She'd always been better at solving problems then surrendering. Maybe…maybe there was some way to salvage this. Some way to find the promise of redemption.

But no one in her circle would grant Cutlena Beckett a second chance. This…it would have to do be done under the radar. Without knowledge or official authorization.

What word had he used again? Undercover. And for that to truly work, there was only one way. Like she said.

He lifted his head, brow wrinkling. "You alright? You look far away…."

She licked her lips, looking at him with an earnest hesitance. "We have to die, James."

Surprise lit his face. "So soon?"

"You said you wanted to go undercover – to continue the fight? Well, they'll never stop searching for us unless we're dead."

"I didn't say it's what I wanted. And you…you don't have to go down with me."

She teased with a self-deprecating smile. "Haven't you been listening? I failed at this. And I refuse to be branded a failure to my face when this is still salvageable."

"Maybe salvageable, but it's completely mental."

"No doubt. But what's worse – living in disgrace for the rest of our days? Or taking this chance and – hopefully – proving everyone wrong. And if not? If we're not successful? Well, fuck - we'll be dead already. No one will ever know."

"It's not that simple to fake one's death."

"No." She agreed. "That's why we'll have to make it convincing."

Silence lingered as they just touched, letting the idea turn over in their minds. It was risky. It was life changing. It would change everything about them and they would be in it. Together. God, were they really ready for such a commitment?

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, conspiratorial. "We'll scuttle the ship. Go down with her."

"What about the everyone else?"

"We'll evacuate them, first, and leave them in Groves' command. Then, we'll go under. There's emergency lifesaving equipment on board."

"Emergency lifesaving equipment?"

"Scuba equipment, basically. Naval grade."

"Well yes, that will be helpful – if we're to go down with a sinking ship and not drown."

His lips pulled up to grin. "Do I hear nerves putting you on the defensive?"

She stared at him, incredulous. "You ass. It's not everyday that I actually think about going down on a sinking ship and relying on naval grade equipment to save my life."

He smiled, his gaze earnest as their eyes locked and he shifted, pressing closer to her. "You'll be fine. That will be the easy part. It'll get much rougher once we surface and have to figure out what to do next."

Boy, wasn't that the truth of it. What would they do? How would they get money? Where would they go? But wasn't that going to be part of it? Part of building the background and credibility to invade pirate havens without suspicion? Especially for such a known, noteworthy pirate hunter.

She craned her neck, slotting her mouth to his, trying to convey so many jumbled thoughts through the kiss. His lips hovered over hers as they parted, pressed tight together, noses brushing. His earlier question echoed in her mind and she had to ask. "Is it worth it to you?"

His puff of amused breath tickled her cheek. "You are."

Sometime later, when she collapsed atop him and he fell back into the bunk, sticky and lethargic, sealed in their commitment to this madness, her eyes had just closed when he shuffled out of the bunk.

"What - where are you going?" She watched him step into his discarded pajama pants and t-shirt.

"You should sleep for now." He stepped back over, brushing a kiss to her temple. "I need to see to a few arrangements. We need to be ready whenever the opportunity presents itself."

"Hmm, and what about sleep for yourself?"

"I wouldn't be able to sleep now anyway."

"Then I didn't do a good enough job." She sighed, angling for one last kiss. "Don't be gone too long."

"No, ma'am." He pressed another kiss to her brow. "There's too much that you have to learn."

"What? Now you tell me?"

* * *

Cutlena watched Theodore leave the _Icarus_ ' bridge, blowing a sigh as she turned back to James, the ship shaking beneath her feet. Water sloshed around as the _Dutchman_ continued to advance. "What do I need to do?"

James pointed at a far console. "Reactivate the torpedo panel. There's a loose wire that needs to be reconnected."

"Something that simple can take the whole system down?"

"If it's the right wire."

She dropped down in front of the console, pulling the front panel cover off. The inside was a tangle of wires and messy looking circuits. She squinted inside, poking around the wire bundles to try and spot the loose one.

There it was. An innocuous yellow wire just hanging loose. She shook her head. "I need - pliers or something."

"Look down at the bottom of the panel. I left the tool there."

She huffed a soft laugh as she actually looked, and sure enough, reached in to grab the pliers. "One might think you've committed sabotage before."

"No. But I have hot-wired a car before."

"So have I." She gripped the wire and maneuvered it towards the only open port. The insulation had been stripped away, leaving the copper end exposed and she pushed it in, trying to secure it in place. "There's a connector missing - it's holding, but it won't stay long."

"It doesn't have to stay long. Just stuff as much of the bent end in the port as you can. That'll be enough."

With a little more finagling, the wire held its place in the port. It certainly wasn't pretty looking but it just had to arm one torpedo.

"Alright. It's done." The rest of the wires jostled as she pulled her hand back, reaching for the panel cover. It slid easily back into place as she registered him coming to stand alongside her, punching on the console.

"Excellent work. Up and running again."

She sighed as she rose to her feet, her stomach balling with anxiety as she took in the position of the ship, perfectly poised to ram right into the _Dutchman's_ side. Shells still exploded, flames and smoke largely obscuring the view of the other ship that lay dead ahead.

This had better work. She didn't really want to die today.

"There we go." His words were the final step, the point of no return. "Torpedo will detonate on impact. Now, it's just full steam ahead."

She licked her lips nervously, glancing at him quickly before he moved back for the helm.

"And your sure that the torpedo won't take out the entirety of the _Icarus_?"

"It shouldn't. Being the smallest one onboard, I expect the better part of the ship's front end to go up. That's why we'll be in the back." He punched a final button on the console and she felt the massive engines kick into gear. "Time to go."

She didn't need to be told twice.

They crossed the deck with the swift speed of familiarity, throwing open the submarine door to the back part of the ship's deck. The starboard cargo room was four decks down and located just aft of the main engine room. In theory, if James was right, that should give them plenty of protection from the ensuing torpedo explosion with hundreds of meters of steel between them and the focal point of the blast. Besides, the _Ducthman_ should absorb the brunt of it.

But as the ship picked up speed, the whirring of the engines loud in the otherwise silent cargo hold, the reality of what they were doing came crashing down around her. "I can't believe we're actually doing this."

"Believe it. There's not much time now." He threw open a crate that was stationed right by the hatch in the ship's hull. She couldn't help but stare as he pulled out masks, regulators, and fins. A collection of oxygen tanks, all secured together and weighted rested next to the crate.

"Won't those float up to the surface?" She asked, hating the anxious edge to her voice.

"No, they're weighted for neutral buoyancy."

"When did you do that?"

"Last night."

"You were busy."

"Well, it's not every day that I plan to fake my death." He righted from digging in the crate, slapping what looked like a large watch on his wrist as he glanced over at her. A flash of concern softened his gaze. "Are you alright?"

She licked her lips, effecting a nervous laugh. "Well, it's not every day I'm on a ship that's about to be destroyed by a torpedo."

"We'll be alright." The absolute surety on his voice was fare more comforting than she wanted to admit. In fact, everything about him - from the calm, collected tone of his voice to his crisp, clean actions more than suggested that he was a competent man of action. A true leader, someone she wanted to follow anywhere. And she would - she would follow him wherever this road lead them.

She couldn't stop staring at him as he continued tapping at the device on his wrist. "What is that?"

"Dive computer. For depth measurements, dive tables, ascent rate. This won't be a typical dive."

She gulped. "I've never scuba dived before."

"Fortunately for you, I've been certified for fifteen years. Your first dive couldn't be with anyone better." He flashed a lightning smile that didn't reach the focused set of his eyes. "But come on - fins, mask. We should be ramming the _Dutchman_ any minute."

Her heartrate sped up as she stepped towards him, reaching down for a mask. She pulled it down over head, letting it rest around her neck before reaching for a pair of fins. "Shoes off?"

"Probably best to keep them on to start." He said, pulling a mask down over his own head. "Less likely to get blisters. But if they cause you a problem, you can take them off once we're under."

She jammed the toe of her shoe into the fin, throwing the buckle around the back of her heel as she stepped into the other. The second buckle was harder to secure, but she looked up just in time to see him secure his last buckle.

"And now, along the wall." He motioned alongside him as they pressed against the hull plating. "Hold fast - the impact will throw us."

She nodded hurriedly, gripping tight to the steel structure, doing her best to pitch her weight and brace with her finned feet. The engines were at a fever pitch now and it shouldn't be much longer. It really shouldn't. She exhaled a deep sigh, her head falling forward to rest against his upper arm. God, who knew such simple contact could be so comforting.

Their whole world lurched forward as the ship screamed. Tremors rocked through the metal in all directions, the sound a deafening roar as every sense overloaded on impact. Her hold broke loose and she tumbled down to the deck, regaining her bearings to find herself staring up at the ceiling. The wail of the engines steadily grew less as the aftermath of the collision and explosion seeped into the ship's very core.

"James?" She could barely hear her own voice as she sat up on the cold floor, her vision spinning.

"Cutlena, come on." His hands fell to her shoulder and she could just register a streak of blood running down the side of his face. "We need to be ready."

With shaky legs, she rose to her feet, gasping when she focused on the gash that cut the side of his head. "What happen - are you alright?"

"I'm alright. The salt water will sting like hell, though."

"I'm - I'm so sorry."

"We can be sorry later. Come on, mask up - but spit in it first and rub it around."

"Spit in it?" Had she heard him right?

"Don't question - just do it."

She exhaled deeply, trying to quell the pounding in the back of her head just enough to focus. Taking her mask in hand, she grimaced for the briefest second before spitting on the mask lens and spreading it around with her fingers. Her footing faltered as the ship lurched, suddenly pitching down a steep angle. Oh god, this was it.

"Over here, come on." He urged and she looked up to see him waiting with a waiting regulator and tank. She flopped over in her fins, looking up at him with wide anxious eyes. "Just like you practiced."

"This is nothing like trying it in your cabin."

"You'll do great." He closed the small distance between them, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead. She took the regulator from him, holding it tight and giving it a gentle, reassuring shake as she nodded her head. "And now for the weight." His arms encircled her middle as the ship gave another lurch, the time listing sharply towards the starboard. The collection of oxygen tanks clattered as they skittered into the hull.

The force of the weight belt on her hips made her stagger as he drew back and she found herself barely able to stand. And she didn't even have a tank on her back yet. Was this why divers always sat on the edge of the boat and just fell over backwards?

Another groan emanated from the ship as the pitch started to flatten out and the listing increased, more than threatening her already precarious balance.

"What's happening?"

"We're sinking." How did he still manage to sound so dry and composed? She felt just one breath away from screaming. "Seems like we're rolling to starboard, which we can work with. But you'll have to keep close once the hatch it open. If the ship is rolling over on top of our exit, then we have to get out from under it quick before it drag us down too deep."

"Oh, god."

"You don't need to worry. But you should focus on trying to keep your breathing level once we're under. You'll burn up a tank much quicker if you're all worked up."

She barked a sharp laugh. "If I'm all worked up? And please, Mr. Calm-and-Collected - just how am I supposed to not be worked up right now."

"Do you trust me?" The earnestness in his bright green eyes was overwhelming.

She didn't even have to think about her answer. "Yes."

"Then, trust me to do the worrying and see us both out of here. This isn't my first sinking ship. And I have had training for these scenarios." He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Now that we generally know how the ship is sinking, we'll know better which way to go once the pressure equalizes. Alright?"

She took a deep breath, nodding, surprised to find that she was already generally calmer.

"Alright." She breathed again. "Alright."

"Alright. We'll get through this."

That's when the water started to trickle in. And rather quite fast, too.

She gulped hard as it pooled around her feet on the slanting floor, the warm wet seeping in through her shoes. If he noticed at all, he gave no indication as he calmly tended to his own mask, securing weight and checking his regulator.

The collection of strapped-together oxygen tanks hovered with the rising water, but never really floated at the surface. What had he said? That they were neutrally balanced? Did that…were they gong to be submerged for so long as to require multiple oxygen tanks?

The knot in her stomach tightened, a sense of claustrophobia tightening around her as the water reached her waist. She exhaled deeply, glancing back at him, trying to draw any measure of comfort.

He pushed his mask up to his forehead. "Alright, here we go. It seems the ship's stopped rolling for now, but she'll be unstable as the water continues to rise. We'll just take it nice and slow once the pressure equalizes."

"Sure, alright. OK."

"Alright." He flashed a reassuring smile. "Mask and regulator now."

Her hands moved, detached from the voice in her head that screamed this was suicidal. She slid the mask into place and clenched the regulator between her teeth. Blood pounded in her ears as the water rose around her chest, and she knew she was doing fuck all to control her breathing. The collection of tanks at his feet looked large enough that she could afford to burn up one from sheer nerves.

Her finned feet started to lift off the floor, floating in suspended animation as her arms started to feebly tread water. It was indeed a weird sensation not to really float or sink. She looked over at him, feeling the warm water reach her neck, watching him nod under his mask and regulator.

And then the water reached her chin and mouth. Passing her nose and up over her eyes. The top of her head.

It was….oddly peaceful. Just floating in the submerged cargo hold. It was relatively quiet, too. No sounds of rushing water, just her own breathing and the bubbles of her exhales. He looked about the same – suspended in the rising waters, fins swishing in the water as he held the tethered oxygen tanks at his side.

Now what? Best to wait for his signal. He'd showed her a variety of hand signals that she would see him use once underwater. That same night he'd also introduced her to wearing a regulator and she'd divulged her weight so he could properly outfit a weight belt. They'd sealed their plan with a tender, comforting round in his bunk, pressed together tight and savoring each touch. She didn't dare to call it love making, but only because. Well.

He glanced at the dive computer, raising his other hand to point towards the hatch. He started to swim over, and she turned, following. The hatch gave easily under his hands, admitting the deep blue beyond. He moved aside, pulling her down to fit out through the hatch door. She swam through, instantly missing his touch when he hand fell away and she could see noting but the vast expanse of ocean outside the ship.

He moved through the hatch behind her in a rush of escaping bubbles, dragging the oxygen tanks behind him, guiding her forward and up around the ship as she slowly continued to sink into the depths.

And so it went. The ship slid away from the world and they had front row seats. But they could also see the _Dutchman_ sinking to her death, too. She couldn't tell if people were in the water or not - probably – but Groves could see to their rescue.

James had told her that the _Icarus_ would release air bubbles long after she slipped from the surface and would provide good cover for their own exhale bubbles. There wasn't any reason for Groves to suspect that they survived, so no one was likely to look. Especially not underwater.

When oxygen tanks ran low, he switched them out, connecting and disconnecting tethers. He kept a watchful eye on the dive computer and every so often, they'd adjust up in their depth or a horizontal position. Presumably they were moving closer to the nearest shore? Her sense of direction was worthless surrounded by so much blue.

And once the ships disappeared out of sight, there was an almost eerie stillness. She couldn't make out any surface ships and no submarines emerged out of the shadows. A few schools of fish curled around them curiously from time to time, but ultimately found them of no interest.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours.

But when they finally broke the surface and she spit out the regulator, the rush of satisfaction was overwhelming. Thank god, the shore was in easy striking distance.

Lethargy from release of the adrenaline high ate at her limbs as she staggered towards the shore alongside James in the dying daylight. He looked just as waterlogged and exhausted as she felt. They shed the fins, weight belts and gear in the waist-high water before trudging up to the sand. To the free air. To their new life.

She sighed, glancing around, pleased to notice the deserted spot. She just needed to rest, just for a minute. Her muscles were more than happy to ease her down to the sand, sitting for just a second before laying back and stretching out. God, what heavenly relief.

They had done it. They had fucking done it! It had sounded absolutely mental when she voiced the idea in James' bed, and even more mental when standing in the cargo hold of the sinking ship. But it had worked. By God, it had worked.

She lifted a brow as she watched him settle beside her, exhaling deep as he relaxed against the sand.

A tired, rumbling chuckle sounded. "I can't believe that actually worked."

She matched his soft chortle. "Well, I have to hand it to you – all your training paid off."

He chuckled again, slowly shaking his head. "I've never trained for anything like that in my life."

"What?!" Her eyes widened, her head jerking up from the sand. "You're saying that you lied to me? I trusted you!"

"And it worked…here we are. And without decompression sickness, too."

"What is that?"

"You don't want to know."

She forced a hard swallow, dropping her head back to the sand. "Well, I'm glad that you told me now and not back on the ship."

"That's exactly why I didn't. I've had scuba survival training, and I wasn't onboard the _Dauntless_ for long when she sank. But this was…this was something new."

A laugh bubbled out of her, a release of the nerves and tension. Her eyes drifted closed as they lay there, just breathing, just being. Just processing that they had actually survived.

He hummed, deep and low in his throat. "I could sleep right here."

"Mmm, same here." She shifted in the sand, scooting over closer to press up against his side. His arm came around her as she pillowed her head on his shoulder. She could just hear the steady beat of his heart, comforting and very much alive as she soaked in the close press of his body.

Perhaps a short nap was indeed in order.

The rest could wait a bit longer.

* * *

The first time a piece of uninvited intel simply signed 'Marlin' crossed Commodore Groves' desk, he trashed it. Uninvited intel usually led to a wild goose chase while a real crime took place someplace else. Service under Norrington had taught him as much.

But by the by the eighth time that signature stared up at him, he took the bait. And good lord, what a payout. The intel had been dead on, exactly as reported. Down to the eerie last detail. It almost made Groves wonder if he had arrested Marlin in that unearthed pirate's den that day. The details were just far too accurate.

No one else looked past the nearly 500,000 pounds of net worth that was recovered from the den. But Groves couldn't help but wonder.

Until the next intel from Marlin arrived. Could the man really be so lucky twice in a row?

Eighteen arrests, 120,000 pounds of recovered net worth, and a solid lead to something called the Pirate Court later, Groves could scarcely believe it.

In as many months since the sinking of the _Icarus_ and the _Dutchman_ , the navy had scored two major victories against the piratical threat. It almost made the losses of Norrington and Beckett worth it.

Almost.

It still soured his stomach, though. Late at night especially, when he shed his commodore rank and simply existed as Theodore. By God, he still didn't see the need for them to sacrifice themselves as they had. The _Dutchman_ was just one ship and Jones was just one man out of countless who needed to be brought to justice.

If there was one good outcome from that harrowing day, it was the successful arrest of the surviving crew. Attempts to turn Jones' men against his own ilk had largely proved unsuccessful, and Groves had struggled to gain any real foothold.

Until Marlin entered his life.

He slammed the rest of his second scotch, flipped off the light, and fell into bed.

If there was one thing about his loose association with Marlin, he wished that the man could be more regular with his information. Sometimes notes came in only one month apart, other times, three months would elapse.

But after the fifth successful series of arrests – this time including two members of the Pirate Court – he received an altogether different note.

 _You're welcome, Commodore Groves._

 _Fryes Tiki Bar, Antigua. February 23, noon. Come alone and no uniform, or I won't find you and I'll stop helping you._

 _-Marlin_

It was risky. It was stupid. But God help him, he took leave and made his way to Antigua.

The days on the beach were certainly quiet, surfing to his heart's content. It was nice to shed the uniform and his duties for a few days. But it was far from relaxing. Was Marlin already here, scoping him out? Stalking his movements?

A gun was too obvious, so he carried a knife. And he knew how to use it.

Noon on February 23rd brought a clear, sunny sky to the open air patio of Fryes Tiki Bar. Dressed in a fitted cotton polo shirt, shorts and flipflops with his tanned skin and sea breeze tousled hair, he certainly didn't look like the Caribbean Royal Navy commodore. Especially not with the skull and crossed swords tattoo on display for all to see. But the accuracy of Marlin's information spoke to a familiarity with pirates, so any comment or reaction to it would be a good gauge of the man. He sipped at his drink and waited.

"Why, Commodore Groves. It's good to see you."

He choked at the voice from his past. The voice that should be nothing more than a ghost. He spun in his chair, staring up in disbelief at the familiar set of brown eyes. Her hair was longer than he'd ever seen it and her bangs were cut blunt. But he undoubtedly recognized her. "Cutlena Beckett. My god."

"Hi, Theodore."

"Holy shit…I can't – you're -." That's when he noticed the other man approaching – the imposing height, the sharp green eyes, the mussed bedhead streaked with more gray.

A teasing smirk quirked James Norrington's mouth. "I always thought you were more smooth-tongued than this, Theodore."

He shook his head, unable to hold back a wide smile. "You utter bastard. Son of a bitch. The pair of you." A laugh of disbelief sounded in his throat as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Christ, this is too much. I thought you–."

"You thought what we wanted you to think." Her hand fell to his shoulder with a squeeze as she moved around him to take a seat.

James crossed the other side of him, taking a chair. "Wouldn't have been effective if you knew that we hadn't actually died."

Theodore looked between them, still stunned. "But how? I…you were on the ship when the explosion and as she went down." His mind spun, trying to work through the possible angles of survival underwater. Wait. He leveled James with a hard look. "Son of a bitch, the emergency scuba gear? Really?"

James shrugged idly. "It worked."

"I amend my former statement – you crazy bastards. It's one thing to use scuba gear, it's another to risk going down with a sinking ship."

Cutlena groaned. "Please don't remind me."

Theodore reached for his drink, taking a long pull, still reeling from the revelation as the waiter approached and took the additional drink orders. He looked between his friends who had been dead up till five minutes ago. The implications were staggering. "But why," he asked after the waiter departed, "why throw your lives away? There's so much more we could have done."

"Oh, I don't know about that," James speculated, "Marlin seems to be doing an admirable job assisting the navy. And you're racking up quite the service record – so many arrests, so much wealth restored to the Crown."

"I hardly think you did this for my benefit, sir." The 'sir' slipped out on habit. There was nothing in James' appearance now that ever suggested the man had been the most feared pirate hunter in the Caribbean. From the messy tousle of his hair, to the stubble on his cheeks, and his reclined, loose posture in his chair. If not for the voice and eyes, Theodore would be hard pressed to believe him the same man.

Cutlena leaned her elbows onto the table. "No, it wasn't for your benefit, though it has certainly worked out that way. After the _Pearl_ attacked and the bridge exploded – there were few options left to James and myself. He would have been dismissed outright with nothing to show from our months at sea except a crippled vessel, a few mid-profile arrests, and eight dead sailors. And, well, with the commodore's removal would have come swift retribution to my own position – I told you that I failed, and I did. So James and I are working to turn that around."

"Running away from your failure?" He turned to James, cocking a brow. "I can see a captain going nobly down with his ship to redeem himself in the face of such loss. But you, Cutlena? That doesn't sound like you."

She huffed a soft laugh. "No, it doesn't. It's almost a wonder people really believe that I'm dead."

He matched her soft laugh. "Well, clearly, you haven't let death stop you so far."

"Nor do I intend it to."

Theodore watched her gaze drift over to James, the look on her face softening with affection. It shouldn't surprise him, but it did. He knew that she was interested in him – but that James actually returned her interest? When had that happened? Especially since she'd only been sent to the Caribbean to destroy his career.

Oddly enough, though, they both looked happy, despite the situation. Even Cutlena's trademark severe style had almost disappeared, her long hair catching in the breeze as the conversation continued to flow. God, how he had missed them both.

James' eye caught on his arm. "What the hell is that? You're a disgrace to the rank, sailor."

He shrugged unconcerned, matching the man's tease. "Not like there were standards to live up to."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." James shook his head. "I knew you were careful to keep your arms covered after your time in Spain but I never imagined."

A mischievous light brightened his smile. That trip to Spain as a midshipman had indeed been one for the record books. The senoritas. The free flowing gin, on top of vermouth hour. The incarceration mixup where he picked up his first guitar. The nights he spent trying to forget how the firelight caught in Cutlena's eyes, how she moaned so prettily for him.

Her snide chuckle brought him back. "If you could see your face...must have been some trip."

He looked to her, meeting her gaze, her small smile. "Yeah, it was."

James scoffed but his smirk was fond. "God help us with a degenerate like you at the helm."

"Degenerate like me?" His brows raised in feigned surprise. "What about you two renegades? God only knows what you've had to do to get such accurate intel."

Cutlena shrugged, unconcerned. "There was a mutiny that one time. Some poison after that. Jay had a sword fight a while back."

Poison? Sword fight? Jay? Theodore's eyebrows climbed higher as he huffed an incredulous breath. "Stop please, for chrissake. Don't make me have to arrest you now."

James quirked a challenging brow. "I'd like to see you try."

Theodore quirked his own challenging brow. "I could probably even afford to give you one day's head start."

"Good," Cutlena interrupted, glancing between the two of them. "We need to get back to Bardua. I've got a date at the Frigate Bird Sanctuary."

Theodore laughed softly, not even wanting to know. He could only hope that no one else arrested them. Their intel was just too good to lose. And, strangely enough, he couldn't deny that it was reassuring. Knowing that they were out there, in this. Together.

James and Cutlena. Out to infiltrate and rid the world of piracy. With James' steadfast perseverance and Cutlena's laser-focused determination…what couldn't they do?

He had to agree with James.

God help them all.

 _FIN_

* * *

Thank you to those who made it this far! I hope you enjoyed, and best wishes for safe travels in 2019! Happy trails!


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